Halloween: Endgame
by Reg Stacey
Summary: Takes place after events leading to the end of the ORIGINAL PRODUCER'S CUT of Halloween 6: The Curse of Michael Myers. Read and Review! COMPLETE! Final chapter uploaded!
1. The Dream

HALLOWEEN: ENDGAME  
  
By  
  
Reg Stacey  
  
Disclaimer and Argument: Okay, kiddies, this is the part where I say that I don't own it, and I'm not making any money off of it; I just wrote it. With that said, I must confess that the story that follows is a bit of an oddity. The reason being, it follows the situations and events cumulating to the end of the rarely found and much sought after Original Producer's Cut to Halloween 6: The Curse of Michael Myers. The original version of this film is rich with answers concerning many of the dangling plot lines and questions posed in the series. It also had the blessing of Donald Pleasence, whom believed the film had a strong story, with a great ending which he described as having "everything hanging in the balance of Loomis' hands".  
  
Unfortunately, the powers that be, uncomfortable with the idea of breaking new ground for fear of abandoning the status quo, fired the original producer. They also re-shot half of the film, (including some re- shot footage around the parts with Donald Pleasence) making the film more confusing than enlightening, and left many a viewer dumfounded trying to sort out what the heck the abrupt ending (or non-ending, as I think of it) meant. Donald Pleasence probably rolled in his grave.  
  
It would seem, that good old Donald Pleasence just can't get any respect, as the following film, H20, deliberately chose to ignore his efforts with Halloween 4-6. Furthermore, rather than simply sampling his infamous "blackest eyes" lines from the original classic, they used a sound- alike to recite them during the films opening credits. The final insult was the fact that they couldn't even be bothered to spell his name right with their "dedication" at the end of the film's credits. Check it out for yourselves, if you don't believe me.  
  
That being said, I'm not implying that H20 was a terrible film by any stretch of the imagination, largely due to the excellent performance of Jamie Lee Curtis. However, the film is more of a Scream film than a Halloween film - Kevin Williamson's part in it aside, the soundtrack for H20 is literally lifted from Scream…again, check it out for yourself. Finally, H20 does itself a disservice by not linking itself to Halloween 4- 6, as the film begins with Michael Myers simply "at large", giving no explanation as to where he's been for 15 years, how he survived the fire at the end of Halloween II, or why he's dressed in the same outfit that was burned off of him during that fire. All of which is expected to be ignored by the fans, which, I must say is a little bit insulting. Do they think we've got rocks for brains? And where was the water? But I digress…after all, this story has nothing to do with H2O.  
  
In summary, this story is for those of you who not only liked Halloween 4-6, but are interested in some closure for those movies we've devoted so much of our time watching and liking. Oh, and I'd like to dedicate this story to the memory of Donald Pleasence. That's with an "ence", people. Finally, this is a work in progress, merely the first chapter in a much longer narrative. For those of you who have not seen the Original Producer's Cut, I have integrated most of the significant events into this opening chapter, and will draw reference to the rest as we go along. Please submit any reviews, (either in this forum or at my personal e-mail at regstacey@yahoo.ca) positive or negative. I would really like to get people's reactions, good or bad, and chew the fat with my fellow Halloween fans! Now, time for the story. Enjoy. I'm done blabbering, I swear!  
  
  
  
HALLOWEEN: ENDGAME  
  
  
  
-1-  
  
THE DREAM  
  
Midnight. The witching hour. The clock tolls. The pendulum swings, and in the sleep of one, the knife plunges.  
  
She enters the car, singing absently, when he is upon her. Together, their breath combined fog up the windows as he strangles the life from her…  
  
The pendulum swings. The knife plunges.  
  
A policeman. Too stupid to live. He is fat and slow and he is in his way. The scalpel slides effortlessly across his throat…  
  
The pendulum swings.  
  
The knife plunges.  
  
A young man spits into his face, in one last dying act of defiance. His neck crunches effortlessly in his hands, like dried timber.  
  
The pendulum swings.  
  
The knife plunges.  
  
Lovers entangled. Mesmerized in the act. He brings the pitchfork down. Sighs of pleasure turn to screams of terror, and again  
  
…the pendulum swings.  
  
The knife plunges.  
  
He awakens, this man, with little more than a gasp. His eyes open. Mechanically, he sits upright. Looking at him, one could never venture to guess that this is a man awakening from a terrible dream. But this is no ordinary man.  
  
True, in his mind he wanted to scream, had he been any longer capable of such an act. But suffering in silence was a forced trait, learned long ago when as a boy, his will was taken by the curse of Thorn.  
  
He would try to scream each time his consciousness emerged from the silent stasis that the Evil held him in, and found he could not. A helpless spectator in the prison of his own body, he could do nothing but watch the knife continue to plunge, as one after one he took them, the raging force within him unrelenting, driven into action by one simple motivation: severing his bloodline. Killing his family. It would seem that the Evil within knew no boundaries in terms of cruelty, as it wasn't enough to merely turn him into a killer. Rather, it was set on consuming him completely, destroying everything he ever knew, and everyone he ever cared about.  
  
So many dead by his hand, one could loose count. But he hadn't. How could he? After all, he had front row tickets to the greatest horror show on earth. Sixty-four people dead, by his own hand. Countless others as a result of his mayhem.  
  
Not my fault, he thought, with a sigh. He was, after all, just as much of a victim as the others, as he was forced over and over again to helplessly watch as his body churned on as an unstoppable engine of destruction.  
  
Not his fault.  
  
Sometimes it was easier to turn away and sink into the oblivion of unconsciousness. Better to cease to exist, than bear witness, as he was forced to play the Devil's Henchman. The Reaper.  
  
Not his fault.  
  
Each time, as hard as he tried, he could not stay his own hand. Except twice, he almost had. Both times had been to the desperate pleas of his family. The first time had been when his sister called out to him at the hospital, stopping him dead in his murderous tracks. The uttering of his name had rekindled a familiarity long since buried – there was a dizzying moment of being thrust into full consciousness, a moment of recollection, only to have the Evil drive him back within, and carry on.  
  
The second time was even stronger, when the cries of his niece had stayed his hand from her sacrifice. Childishly, upon her request, he removed his mask – in itself a symbol of the evil which enveloped him – and showed her his face. Her caress of his cheek was tender and loving, and for the first and last time, he cried. The Evil was not pleased. And it was very, very strong. When it took his will back, it responded with rage. The mask was back on, and the murders began again.  
  
Not his fault.  
  
So it went, year after year, blood bath after blood bath energizing the Evil, making its vessel, his body, bloated and strong off the blood of innocents, each murder feeding the thing within him making it more and more unstoppable until the boy changed everything.  
  
The boy.  
  
Only the boy, who had first encountered him back 18 years before, during his first assault on his sister, was now a man - Tommy Doyle.  
  
Tommy Doyle. He felt a strange empathy for this man, for like him, as a child, he was scarred by the scourge of this Evil, and like him, it had made him a prisoner to it most of his adult life.  
  
Recluse and isolated, Tommy became obsessed with him, determined to find out what made him tick in order to stop it, and he had DONE it, barely seconds before he strangled the life from him. Somehow, he had figured it out, after years of obsessive research. The runes. The ritual. How to cancel the evil.  
  
He remembers it well. He had them on the run, after Tommy had just saved Danny, Kara and the baby from Wynn's twisted sacrificial ritual. He remembers it clearly, despite the fact that the Evil was more strong and unstoppable than ever – it had reached a new peak, and it would not be stopped or denied.  
  
They ran through the endless corridors. They were lost, and they were getting tired. He knew the halls well. His pace was constant, and his breathing steady. He would catch them. It was only a matter of time before he had them cornered. Then the moment came. The Evil took sweet pleasure in the dumbfounded look on their faces, as just outside the exit, they were denied by the barrier of the emergency security gate. With them less than five feet from freedom, he closed in on them, their expressions like deer caught in the headlights, while the corridor lights strobed in a mad epileptic dance.  
  
Then, in a strange twist of fate, the Doctor appeared. So strange that he always managed to pop up as he had and foil his attempts right at the moment of the Evil's most insatiable state of bloodlust, stopping the sacrifices that it craved the most. He was a prickly thorn, a dormant cyst that always seemed to abscess at the worst possible times. But this time, the Doctor himself was on his last legs. The weight of age and burden had him faltering.  
  
Doctor Loomis pulled out his gun, called to them, and shot the lock off of the emergency gate. Kara and the children spilled out and into his arms, and they disappeared down the exit elevator. No matter. Tedious clean-up for later. It would not save the boy. Whether he was immobilized with fear, or shock, he had failed to flee, and his inaction would be his death. It would be all too easy to snap his puny little neck.  
  
He continued to close in. But the boy was doing something strange. What was it? He had dropped to his knees, and like a child rolling marbles out of a bag, he had scattered something on to the floor. Rocks? No matter. In ten seconds he would be dead.  
  
The boy's behavior continued to grow stranger. In a bizarre masochistic turn, he drew a knife and sliced it against his palm. If blood was what the boy wanted, he was happy to oblige. Five seconds.  
  
The boy, apparently delirious, was smearing his hand onto the floor when he was finally upon him. The boy tried to stand when his hand closed around his throat. He watched as Tommy Doyle's face constricted in a desperate grasp for air, his eyes bulging, the veins in his forehead protruding, his colour fading, when at the last possible second, Tommy had managed to utter one word…  
  
Samhain.  
  
Suddenly, the dark cloud, which had lied overcast on his soul for so many long years, had lifted. It left with a rustle, and his body went limp.  
  
His death grip released, and Tommy dropped to his knees, dumfounded, his lungs rejoicing in a tremendous intake of air.  
  
For a moment, all the two could do was stare blankly at each other in mutual disbelief. Then, with his brain finally receiving oxygen again, Tommy's wits returned to him, and he had fled. The boy was gone, leaving him standing alone in stunned uncertainty, as his mind tried to struggle past the shock to determine if what his senses were telling him was true.  
  
The Evil was gone. Gone. For the first time since he was six years old, Michael Myers was in the driver's seat again.  
  
There he stood alone in the hallway, for how long, he had no idea. He was hesitant to even move, for fear that this was nothing more than the Evil's sick way of taunting him. Then Wynn had found him, and his indecisiveness in action was solved in a fury of rage.  
  
It was rather ironic that his first act of his own free will in 33 years would be one of murder, but he just couldn't help himself.  
  
Wynn. The one who came to him in the middle of the night and told him to kill.  
  
Wynn. The one who had inflicted this damn curse on him trapping him in his own personal hell for oh so many years. Wynn. The one who, upon his command, Michael was forced to bloody his hands with the lives of innocents. Wynn. The one ultimately responsible for the terror he inflicted on his family, and the little town of Haddonfield.  
  
Wynn had found him still standing in the spot that Tommy had left him, inanimate, like a comatose zombie. Immediately, Wynn went to him, consoling him like some surrogate father, wanting to know what they had done to him. Between his slithery hands on him in embrace and that fake condescending voice of compassion and concern, it was more than Michael could take.  
  
Michael's iron grip closed around Wynn's throat, and lifted him off the floor. With his other hand, Michael felt for the back of Wynn's spine, and with one quick whiplash gesture, he bent Wynn completely backwards.  
  
Wynn screamed in excruciating pain, as his spine snapped, each vertebra popping in rapid succession. Contemptuously, Michael dropped him to the floor like a drooping bag of trash. He stood above him, watching Wynn grimace and moan until finally he slipped into the depths of unconsciousness. It wasn't enough. After 33 years, it wasn't enough. Wynn's suffering had been too quick. He needed something more, one more final act of vengeance.  
  
He reached up towards his mask, and removed it, along with his overalls, shedding the skin of his mockery, his damnation, and exchanged them with Wynn's clothes. Let Wynn die wearing the guise of his own shame; may he burn in Hell.  
  
Draped in Wynn's trench coat and hat, Michael made his way through the corridors down to the east exit. Above all else, he felt the overwhelming urge to run. To get out, away from Haddonfield, to clear his mind and come to terms with what had happened. With the others gone, it wouldn't take long for the police to come, and he had to make this place a memory if he was bent on maintaining his freedom.  
  
As he reached the end of the hallway, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of an agonizing scream from behind him. But not just any scream. It was a voice that he recognized instantly.  
  
Loomis.  
  
Poor old Doctor Loomis. Ultimately consumed by the Evil he had sworn to destroy.  
  
At the sounds of his cries, Michael had to resist the urge to turn back and save him. Help him. He did, after all, owe him that much. Although the Doctor could never have  
  
known, his kind words were gentle and soothing for the first 7 years in the institution. With his parents abandoning him for his crime, Loomis had become the closest thing to a father he had ever known. So many times he wanted to reach out to Loomis – to connect, but the Evil would never allow him to swim to the surface, smothering him as its black eyes stared back out at Loomis, defiantly concealing the trapped little boy behind them.  
  
Yes, he wanted to go back for him. But if he saved Loomis, then what? It wasn't like he would just let Michael waltz out of there after everything that had happened over the years, and things were liable to get ugly. Then, the screaming stopped. He was probably dead anyway, and once again Michael had to remind himself that the police were on their way by now. He had no further desire to kill anyone else.  
  
So he had fled.  
  
He stole Wynn's car from the lot – convenient, considering he was wearing Wynn's clothes, thus possessing Wynn's keys - and drove until the gas ran out. From there on, he lengthened the distance from Haddonfield through the means of continuous hitchhiking. This proved to be a rather difficult chore considering his burn-scorched face, and the fact that he had been draped in a hat and black trench coat. The persistence of human dignity won the day, however, and several brave souls stopped and helped him along his way, despite the fact that they were creeped out by him. Most of his successful rides were with pick-up or truck drivers, who usually made him ride in the back.  
  
If they only knew, he thought. Drivers will pick up anyone these days.  
  
Sneaking past the Canadian border was an exercise in child's play for him, as his life had been a career in eluding authorities. Once he reached the province of Ontario, he settled in a small town where he used Wynn's cash (with a little help from his own imposing countenance) to connect him with the wrong people, whom connected him with the right people, and before long, he was a bona fide born and raised Canadian citizen: Harold J. Callahan, social insurance # 455 457 876, thank you very much. His ingenuity and his resourcefulness allowed him to obtain housing and employment, and here he had stayed ever since, and tried to make Haddonfield a memory. Easier said than done.  
  
All those people dead.  
  
Not his fault.  
  
But to the families and friends of the victims, it was.  
  
To the authorities, who would hunt him down, it was.  
  
To the townspeople who would have his head on a spit, it was.  
  
And as hard as he tried to deny it to himself, in his own heart, it was.  
  
As well, there was something else. The nightmares were only a part of it. Somehow he knew, he felt that things weren't over in Haddonfield. True, he had killed Wynn, and Wynn had been the only one with any real power – the source of the supernatural evil that held the town in siege – but was the Evil dead with him? It was Wynn who had come to his room those many summer nights and told him to kill, worming the curse into him, but the more Michael reached into his memory, the more he was sure that even though Wynn had uttered those words, it wasn't Wynn's voice that said them. The voice was something other – something alien – something that wasn't even human.  
  
What the hell WAS Wynn? Was he even human? Was there something controlling him, just as something had once controlled Michael? Did it die with him?  
  
The scream. Loomis' scream. What had caused it?  
  
Too many unanswered questions. Too much uncertainty to let it lie, and in the dark of the night, he had finally admitted what he had been lying to himself about all of these years. He was responsible. He had to go back. Just to be sure.  
  
Besides, someone had to rid the town of that fucking cult.  
  
With the constellation of Thorn about to grace the heavens for the first time in 10 years, something was about to stir, and undoubtedly, the cult would be up to something. They may even try to get to his son again.  
  
His son. The inbred offspring of himself and his niece. Once again, Michael was reminded of the cruelty of the curse, and how inch by inch, year by year, it had found new and creative ways to utterly destroy him. Even the act of love was not exempt from its corruption, as the Evil wielded by Wynn forced him to take his own niece during some obscene ritual. His poor niece, Jamie. Barely sixteen years old, a prisoner of the cult for six long years, she had never stood a chance. Why must so many be made to suffer so young? In an act of ritualistic rape they had destroyed her maidenhood, her innocence, in a rite of blood and tears.  
  
Michael's blood boiled at the thought of this. Another all-time low for those vermin, another indecency to add to the list of his reckoning. There was no doubt in his mind, now. He would go back, and he would destroy them. They would ante up with blood for the job they had done on him.  
  
Yet, there was something else. He wiped a cool bead of sweat off of his head, and realized he was experiencing a sensation that he hadn't felt for a very long time.  
  
Fear.  
  
Fear for himself? Hardly. Michael's life had been little more than a series of endless dark corridors, forever leading to pain and doom, and many a time he welcomed the idea of tranquillity in death.  
  
No, the fear was for the others. It was for the little town of Haddonfield. It was also for his son, and those who had cared for him, Tommy, Kara and Danny. The fact was, Michael wasn't sure if he could trust himself, for although he had lived the last 10 years under his own free will, there was reason to suspect that the Evil may still lie dormant within him. Part of him couldn't shake the idea that he was playing into its hands; that the Evil was once again luring him back to Haddonfield to force him to work its evil deeds anew.  
  
The symptoms were, undeniably, cause for great concern. For one thing, he still had the strength. He was inhumanly strong, far too strong for any average man, let alone one pushing towards the ripe old age of fifty.  
  
Stranger still, was his body's unnatural resilience to heal and regenerate. After gaining status as a Canadian citizen, Michael obtained employment at a packaging company in a city neighbouring the small town where he made his home. His social skills were about as good as his appearance, and he was surprised that he had even got the job. The irony was that the hiring steward was an American immigrant, whom to his surprise responded with empathy to the bogus story he told her about being in Viet Nam in order to explain the ruins of his scarred face. As it had turned out, she had lost a husband in that same war, and was more than eager to do anything she could to help him out, which, of course, included hiring him.  
  
Michael remembered his last day on the job, though he had no idea it would be such when he went into work that evening. He preferred the midnight shift – it meant fewer people, thus fewer questions. He was to work that night with André, assisting him in fixing an operating alarm sensor on one of the production line's cutter heads. The idea of working with André always irritated him, for André was a drunk, and almost always came to work intoxicated.  
  
That night, André made two fatal errors. The first was a result of his indifference to the rules of upper management, as like usual, he didn't lock the power off as was policy before beginning work on a major piece of machinery. The second was backing into the power switch in his drunken stupor, the moment Michael had reached within the cutter head's cradle to clear the loose product debris from it.  
  
The cutter head began to dance madly, as it came down, severing Michael's hand, tearing bone and tendons. It continued to piston and spin, the blood splattering one of Michael's co-workers in the face, sending her running in a screaming fit, in search of help. The pain was excruciating, yet during the entire incident, Michael hadn't let out one sound.  
  
Immediately, André killed the power, and ran over to help him. The stench of his breath as he stood over Michael was putrid and foul. Michael veered up, and with his one free hand, locked a grip around André's neck, threatening to break his jugular. The old killing impulse seeped its way back into Michael's mind, a learned trait that curse or no curse, he had apparently not forgotten.  
  
Then his mind cleared. He released André, and collapsed onto the floor.  
  
The result had been a rather substantial permanent compensation claim. André appeared to be sincerely apologetic, although it did not save his job.  
  
During the months that followed, Michael had just resolved himself to the idea of going through life single handed, when something very odd began to happen. At first, he entertained the possibility that he may have developed a tumor on the stump where his hand had been, but after 2 months, he was completely sure. His hand was growing back. After 4 months, it had completely taken shape, about the size of a baby's hand, and he was able to wiggle his fingers, in morbid fascination. After a year, it was fully- grown and restored. He never bothered to contact the compensation board.  
  
In the midst of his reminiscing, Michael found himself pondering the question of what it would actually take to kill him. Well, one thing was for sure – he was relatively sure that chopping his head off would do the trick. How many rounds of ammunition had they fired into him back at that old well in 1988? And not a single head shot. They had actually managed to miss his heart as well, as impossible as that may seem. One would almost think that they were trying to take him alive. He had barely escaped that incident as it was, and it took his body a full year to recuperate from the wounds they inflicted.  
  
Despite his healing abilities, his body was still human. He breathed. He bled. He ate. It would appear that the abilities as well, were limited; it took time, and the worse the injury, the longer it took. It had taken seven of the ten years he lied in a coma from 1978 to 1988 for his eyes to grow back, a little known fact that Wynn had manage to conceal from Loomis and the rest of the staff . As well, his regenerative powers strangely did not respond well to fire.  
  
He still had the burns. So strange it was to look at his hands, one old and scarred by fire, the other new and flawless. It was all too bizarre to fathom.  
  
So there it was, the justifications for his fear. He still had the strength. He still had the healing factor. However, the most unsettling of all, was the fact that he had almost killed André. Although the reaction under the circumstances was justified, it didn't change the fact that Michael felt that old all-too-familiar feeling of the bloodlust. This, more than anything, cemented his worries of the possibility of the curse still being present. He just wasn't sure if he could trust himself.  
  
That was just a chance that he would have to take. He was responsible, and he HAD to go back. Besides, he would kill himself first, before he let the Evil take hold of him again.  
  
Thus in the dead of the night, Michael Myers resolved himself to the fact that once again, he was coming home.  
  
But there was somewhere else he had to go first. 


	2. The Vision

-2-  
  
THE VISION  
  
"Welcome, my children, back to Mistress Zoe's temple of fortune." Who is our next caller?"  
  
"Um, uh, hi, Mistress Zoe...My name is Susan. I'm concerned about my boyfriend...we've been fighting a lot..."  
  
The voice on the other end was clearly young, timid, and easily dominated. Yet, it seemingly yearned for validation, likely due to some sort of childhood trauma, or lack of parental affection. Her father...  
  
"Salutations, honey-chil'! Say no more... let Mistress Zoe look into the cards of fate for you. Hmmm....he is much older, yes?"  
  
"Yes! Yes, that's right!"  
  
Yep, that was it, all right. Dead on. She's being smothered, likely even abused by some older creep, and she's desperate to get out of the relationship. Standard fare. She'd seen it a thousand times before. Mistress Zoe continued to read the cards. Time to drop some of the obvious observations, as "surprisingly profound" as they would seem to the girl on the other end of the line.  
  
"Hmmmm...he's always questioning you about where you've been, correct? Always waiting up until you come in the door?"  
  
"Oh my god! Yes! That is SO right!"  
  
"Yet when you ask him where he's been whenever he comes in late out of legitimate concern for him, he chastises you, and gets very angry. That boy has one feisty temper!  
  
"That is so true...there wasn't a week that didn't go by in high school where he didn't get in a fight...oh wow, this is so cool!"  
  
Okay. Avoid the abuse assumption. Too much red tape to have to deal with the station. Again, Mistress Zoe scattered the cards and read, conveniently turning up a card with a storm cloud.  
  
"You fear that he's cheating on you."  
  
A pause, a sniffle, and then, "Yes, I do."  
  
"And you are right. He is a dog, girlfriend! You need to kick him to the curb!"  
  
The young girl released a relieved giggle, amidst a sob. "I know, it's just so hard, but you're right. I have to. It's true. Thank you. Thank you, Zoe."  
  
Poor girl. Be nice now; keep her mood positive. "That boy ain't nuthin' but bad seed that needs to be trimmed at the branch! Drop that stray cat and hook yourself up with a man who deserves you!"  
  
Again, that sad giggle. Half laugh, half sob. But she was cracking her up! Give her more, but not much - remember the time window...other callers await.  
  
"I see brightness and light in your aura. And see this card? It is the lovers' card. It says that your true love will find you, before the advent of Samhain." Now that was a little tacky - should have kept it real - hopefully it will slip by. She's bound to hit the bars by then...  
  
"Okay, thanks."  
  
"Bye-bye, sweet chil'...I love you!!"  
  
Two hours later, a very exhausted Mistress Zoe left the stage, and disappeared behind the door of her studio change room. Ten minutes after that, her alter ego, Clarrissa Evans, mild -mannered mother of one, emerged from her change room cursing under her breath as she made hastily for home.  
  
Damn it, she thought. Dannika was going to have her head for being so late.  
  
And to top it off, her last caller had been nothing but an exercise in frustration, accusing her of being a fraud and sleaze-bag opportunist. Sure she had dealt with it professionally as usual, but it didn't change the fact that tonight, this one particular caller had got under her skin. The bitch. Who the hell was she to judge? So what if she was a fraud? An opportunist? So what? She made people happy by telling them what they wanted to hear. Besides, if the common caller was self-actualized enough to work through their own problems on their own without her, then Mistress Zoe wouldn't be such big business.  
  
After all, it's not like she'd had it easy over the years. Clarrissa Evans, a graduate of the University of Minnesota at the top of her class with a double major in Dramatic Arts and Psychology, had set herself out to Hollywood, as an aspiring actress. After countless rejections and an unfortunate casting couch incident, she had left Tinsel-town morally and emotionally bruised, not to mention 5 months pregnant.  
  
Her unfortunate situation and lousy luck had brought her to here, Butt-Fuck, Illinois (a.k.a. Haddonfield.) where she took shit job after shit job, as a waitress, or hostess or measly corner store clerk, just to make ends meet, and to keep food in the mouth of her sweet little Dannika.  
  
Dearest, Dannika. She hadn't planned on being a mother so early in her life, but that didn't change the fact that she loved her on sight, and had managed to spoil her rotten at the tender age of 4. Now things were paying off, so miss lady caller could just stick it where the sun don't shine. Besides, it was kind of fun - the outrageous outfits, the trinkets and the goofy Jamaican put-on with a touch of fly girl were just too great. She had fun doing her job, and she doubted that many around here could say the same, including that trailer trash whore, the lady caller.  
  
Clarrissa unlocked the drivers side door and was about to step into her car, when from behind her spoke a raspy voice, grainy, with a thick British accent;  
  
"Yo, brown sugar,"  
  
She turned to face the voice, startled, and the only observation before she was knocked unconscious was that the smiling figure before her looked like a lost member of the Rolling Stones. His narrow, leathery and hard wrinkled face bespoke of premature aging due to the smoking of a thousand cigarettes, (and probably a whole lot of booze combined with that, Clarrissa thought). It was a pallid contrast to his long black hair, a throwback she hadn't seen a person that age wear since the `80's. As well, he was wearing sunglasses. Why was he wearing sunglasses at night?  
  
Clarrissa didn't have a chance to ask. He hit her across the head, and darkness consumed her.  
  
When consciousness flooded back into her brain, she found to her horror, that she was locked in a cage suspended in a dimly lit room full of candles. Beneath her was a stone basin filled with dry kindling. Incense filled the air, and Clarrissa noted that her skin was soaked with something slippery. Cooking oil?  
  
Attempting to keep herself together, Clarrissa focused on her surroundings, and looked ahead. A dark robed figure stood with its back to her, chanting. Was that Latin? The figure's arms were animated and upraised like some sort of priest, in praise. In its left hand it held a dagger. On the altar before it, Clarrissa could just make out the shape of an animal's head - a goat.  
  
"Laudemus Cernunnon, Hernem; Cornigerum; Deum venationem. Poscimus te accipere hoc sacfrificium, signum modestum venerationis nostrae."  
  
The robed figure brought the blade down and slit the goat's throat, while using its other hand to steady and hold the diminishing thrashing of the poor beast's body. At this particular moment, Clarrissa did the only thing any rational human being would do. She began to scream her lungs out. The robed figure turned at the sound of her screams, removed its hood, and began to walk in her direction. On its way, it grabbed a towel and began soaking the blood off it hands into it, while the dead beast continued to bleed all over the altar.  
  
Into the light, stepped Dr. Sam Loomis. Clarrissa had time to note that the man's face was surprisingly warm and inviting, the face you'd expect to see across the dining room table at Christmas; the face of a grandfather. Yet something was off. Something was wrong. His eyes...they were coal black, like the eyes of a serpent. She began to panic.  
  
"Ah, hello, my dear. My apologies. I hadn't realized that you had awakened yet."  
  
"Oh God, oh God....please...don't hurt me.... Oh God, please..."  
  
"Yes yes, dear, I..."  
  
"Please, anything you want...I'll do anything at all...please just let me go. For the sake of my little girl, please just let me go." I'll do anything..."  
  
"Anything?" Loomis quipped. "Anything at all? That's very generous of you, dear. I think I'll take you up on your offer. It's a very small request, I'm sure that you'll..."  
  
"ANYTHING! Whatever you want I'll do it! Just please, let me go..."  
  
"Yes, dear, yes. As I was saying, my request is quite small. It is simply that you shut your fucking mouth."  
  
"Wha-what?"  
  
"Shut up. You're raving, and you're interrupting me. I hate that. You're being rude. Besides your groveling has already gone far beyond pathetic."  
  
In stunned shock, Clarrissa's jaw dangled, then she closed it slowly, her eyes round and white, staring back at the doctor in silent terror.  
  
"I understand that you fancy yourself a psychic. A telepath. I once held a girl in my company for six years, whom manifested such abilities, though I hadn't known at the time. It wasn't until the acquisition of my present...facilities, that I gained the knowledge of how truly special she was. And how special her child still is. A very special boy indeed."  
  
Loomis stopped talking for a moment, and walked over to the far wall. He picked up a large torch, and with one of the candles illuminating the room he lit it. He then walked back over to the cage. Once again, he began to speak.  
  
"In order to appease the gods, the Druid priests held fire rituals. Prisoners of war, criminals, the insane - animals were....burned alive, in baskets. By observing the way they died, the Druids believed they could see omens of the future."  
  
Panic began to rush in again, with the dawning of understanding, as Clarrissa's eyes once again fell to the dry kindling below the cage.  
  
"Oh God! Please...Oh no, oh no, oh no no no...."  
  
"You fancy yourself as one who enlightens, Clarrissa? Then by all means. Enlighten me."  
  
Loomis threw the torch below the cage, and it went up like a matchbox. Clarrissa began to scream as the fire blazed up and began to consume her. Loomis tilted his head slightly and watched, in silent fascination as the smoldering stench of Clarrissa's skin searing began to drown out the smell of the room's incense. Near the end, when her screaming had long since stopped and her body stopped its convulsions, the fire danced it's orange flames and reflected back in the black of Loomis' eyes, and that's when he saw it.  
  
The vision.  
  
Only there for a second, barely visible. Some psychic, he thought. Yet it spoke to him in volumes.  
  
Michael.  
  
Michael. His dear boy. He was coming home. Finally, he was coming home. It was about time, as he had grown tired of the search and the long wait. In the shadow of the flames, the thing that had consumed Sam Loomis and taken his form had smiled.  
  
It smiled with good reason. Things were finally coming together. With Loomis' memories, and Loomis' secrets, he now had all of his pawns in place, and it was merely a matter of bringing them together.  
  
He (it) disrobed, and donned the ever-familiar guise of Loomis' tan trench coat. No more time for ritual. There was work to be done. Office work. There were phone calls to be made, and people to talk to. Again it smiled, with anticipation that it had not felt in millennia.  
  
Back at the home of Clarrissa Evans, Lindsey Wallace, Dannika's baby-sitter, held the crying little girl in her arms. Dannika missed her mommy. 


	3. The Sign

-3-  
  
THE SIGN  
  
"Okay, kiddo," Tommy said, as he knelt beneath the stars with Stephen. "Time for the big test. What's that one?"  
  
"That's easy," Stephen paused, as he studied the constellations of the heavens above. "The Big Dipper."  
  
Tommy smiled, and rubbed his hand through Stephen's dirty blonde hair, in a gesture of fatherly affection. Ever since he took Stephen stargazing for the first time when he was 6, Stephen had become an immediate astronomy junkie. Thus, almost every Sunday night when the sky was clear, they would drive to the outskirts of town to study the heavens, unhampered by the intrusive glare of the city.  
  
"That's right, kid! But can you tell me its actual scientific name?"  
  
"Um...Ursa Major."  
  
"Which means....?"  
  
"The big bear."  
  
"Check out the big brain on Stephen!" Tommy chuckled, as he raised his hand in a high-five. Stephen laughed and met Tommy's high-five, but then his face furrowed in an expression of puzzlement.  
  
"Daddy, I don't get it."  
  
"You don't get what?"  
  
"I don't get it. It doesn't look like a bear at all. How does that look like a bear?"  
  
Stephen pointed at the Big Dipper, accusingly.  
  
"Well, you see....um..." Tommy started out unevenly. "Uh, well the head is...no wait...the tail's right um uh..." Stephen began to laugh at the sight of his father, as the more his dad tried to sort it out, the sillier he looked.  
  
"Don't ask so many questions, Mr. Smarty-pants!" Tommy began to tickle the child relentlessly, and Stephen squirmed and tried to get away. Stephen laughed convulsively, until he couldn't take it anymore.  
  
"Okay! Ha ha ha...I GIVE! I GIVE!"  
  
"Say Uncle."  
  
"Uncle ha ha ha...UNCLE!!"  
  
"That's BETTER!"  
  
Tommy released the boy, and the two resumed their appreciation of the night's wonders, the father resting his hand on the shoulder of his dear adopted son. Stephen and Tommy were really close, as close as any two could be. Sadly, Tommy wished that he could say the same thing for Danny.  
  
After escaping from Michael and the Thorn Cult in Haddonfield, Danny, whom seemed to form an immediate bond with Tommy when they had first met back during that bad business, had grown steadily distant and angry. Part of it, Tommy assumed, was due to the fact he and Kara had grown to love one another and eventually had wed, and it was only natural for the boy to feel slightly territorial about his mother.  
  
And let's not forget that Danny' s a teenager now, Tommy thought. Hormones flipping out. Unable to like anybody. End of story. Or was it?  
  
Somehow, Tommy didn't think so. Danny's troubles ran deep, and he had never been the same since Wynn had tried to inflict the curse of Thorn upon him, and Michael had attacked. His sleep was always troubled, and he was prone to temperamental outbursts and mood swings. It would seem that no matter how far they had traveled, they couldn't shake the over-looming presence of Haddonfield's shadow.  
  
Tommy was worried about Danny, and many a time tried to reach out to him. Danny, however, seemed to grow more defensive and distant with each of Tommy's attempts, and Tommy came to the conclusion that maybe he was trying too hard. So, he gave Danny space. If Danny needed him he knew where to find him, but if he was going to confide in Tommy, it would have to be Danny's own idea. Tommy wasn't about to pressure him.  
  
But that didn't change the fact that Tommy worried about Danny, and hated himself a little bit for his uselessness in the matter.  
  
"Daddy?" Stephen interrupted Tommy in his deep thoughts. "I don't recognize that constellation. Do you know it?"  
  
Tommy's easy smile disappeared in and expression of dread.  
  
The constellation of Thorn fell to the east, its stars blazing brighter than he had ever seen them.  
  
"No, kid, can't say it rings any bells." Tommy lied bitterly. "Better pack it up. It's getting late."  
  
During the drive home, Stephen fell fast asleep, and Tommy was left to sort out how he was going to handle Kara and Danny when he told them that they had to get out of town for a while. Kara was most assuredly going to tell him that he was being paranoid. And there's a good chance that she was right. Fleeing town on the basis of a warning from the stars really didn't hold much water in the world of logical thinking, but Tommy didn't care. Halloween was just a little more than a month around the corner, and if the Thorn Cult had discovered where they had settled, they were apt to strike soon. Tommy wasn't going to take no for an answer; he would make arrangements with Doctor Loomis, and they would disappear for a few weeks.  
  
Still, it was going to be hard to convince Kara. And Danny, well, he was just going to be impossible.  
  
It went worse than he thought.  
  
"What is this shit?" Danny roared in protest. "What have you been smokin' Tommy?"  
  
"Danny, listen..."  
  
"No! You've lost your God-damned mind if you think I'm going to give up my date with Terri and the Halloween party to throw fucking snowballs around in fucking September!"  
  
"Danny, watch your mouth."  
  
"Fuck you, Tommy. I got a news flash for you. In case you hadn't noticed, you're not my FUCKING DAD!! Which means you don't tell me what to do."  
  
"Tommy, you're out of line," Kara broke in. "I'm your Mother, and you're being disrespectful. Shut your mouth."  
  
"Oh, come on Mom! This is bullshit! You're not buying into this garbage are you? I swear to God, sometimes I think you're as crazy as he is."  
  
Kara's temper flared, and she brought her hand across Danny's face, in a hard slap. For a moment Danny stood with his jaw hanging open in angry disbelief. Then to Tommy's shock, incredibly, Danny slapped his mother back.  
  
Immediately, Tommy was on him, pinning him against the wall. "Don't you EVER hit your mother again!"  
  
Danny's eyes narrowed in a glare, and he pushed Tommy away, sharply. Danny was rather large and strong for his 17 years, towering above Tommy by three inches. "You think you're a big man, Pretty- boy Doyle? You want to show me how tough you are? Let's see what you've got!"  
  
Pretty-boy Doyle. That was Kara's nickname for him. Joking about their age differences when they were dating, (she was in fact 4 years older) she used to tease him about his soft good looks and his baby-blue eyes, calling him Pretty-Boy Doyle. Tommy, accustomed to feeling awkward and unattractive for most of his life was flattered, although a little embarrassed by the backhanded compliment.  
  
However, right now, Tommy felt anything but flattered. Trying to control his rage, he backed away from Danny. Danny, however, wouldn't let up.  
  
"What's wrong, chicken-shit? Can't play daddy with junior cutting up? Come on! Hit me! I fucking dare you!"  
  
Danny gave Tommy one last hard shove, and Tommy released his rage. He buried his fist in Danny's gut, bringing him to his knees.  
  
It proved to be an act he immediately regretted.  
  
"DANNY!" Kara cried as she ran over to Danny, whom winded from Tommy's blow, was just regaining his breath. "Are you all right?"  
  
Danny flinched from his mother's touch, shamed and humbled. His eyes were red and glossy, as he fought back the tears, defiantly. He stood up abruptly, his breathing heavy and excited. If looks could kill, Tommy would have been a corpse at that moment.  
  
"Fuck you, Tommy," Danny then swung his head to meet his mother's eyes. "No, fuck you BOTH!" And with a hard slam of the door upon his departure, Danny was gone.  
  
Kara rose slowly, and went to the window. She watched Danny leave, her eyes downcast in silent sorrow. Tommy stood silently and watched her, debating whether or not to leave her to herself for a while. Finally, after some deliberation, he went to her.  
  
"Kara, I am so sorry," he began, "It's just that when he struck you, I kind of lost it. You know I'm not normally like that...I promise that..."  
  
Kara put a finger to Tommy's lips, silencing him, while giving him that look of quiet understanding. They kissed gently, and embraced.  
  
"You shouldn't have hit him, Tommy," she said, resting her head on his chest. "And can you really blame him? He just wants to put all that garbage from the past behind him, and he's been looking forward to that party for a week since that girl agreed to go with him." The way she had said "girl" suggested to Tommy that she didn't approve of Danny's choice in women. Tommy tried to conceal his smile.  
  
" The party is even a week before Halloween; on a weekend. Don't you think that maybe we're jumping the gun a little bit here?"  
  
"Maybe, but come on, Kara...after everything we've been through, do you really want to chance it?"  
  
"Well, we could still go...maybe Danny could crash at Mrs. King's for a few weeks. She'd be glad to have the company, and she wouldn't tell a soul. If anyone found the house, they'd think it was deserted, and just ASSUME he's with us. What do you think?"  
  
Tommy shrugged. There was no point in arguing, as when it came to Danny, he was always on unequal ground with Kara. After all, Danny was her son, and he was just the good ol' step-dad. And when you're the kooky step-dad who wants to flee town because he saw some stars in the sky, you just didn't have enough ground to argue on. "I guess that could work."  
  
Kara kissed his for-head. "It's settled, then. I think I'm going to turn in early, maybe do a little reading in bed. I'm feeling kind of drained. Good-night."  
  
A half-an-hour later, Danny slipped quietly back in, attempting to pass the living room unnoticed. Tommy, of course, had heard him. No matter how light the footfall, nobody had ever been able to sneak up on him, a learned attribute as a result of constantly looking over his shoulder for 10 years. However, Tommy made no gesture to suggest he noticed, as he knew Danny well enough to know that he was heading upstairs to reconcile with his mother.  
  
At the top of the stairs, Danny rapped gently on the door. "Mom, are you awake?"  
  
"Yes Danny. What is it?"  
  
He opened the door to face his mother, and looked at her with naked regret. He then went over and hugged her. "I'm sorry, Mom. It's just that I've really been looking forward to the next couple of weeks, and he makes me crazy when he starts up about the past. I just want to forget about that shit. I mean, it was a long time ago...if they were coming for us, you'd think they would have done it by now. I just want a life." A tear streamed down his cheek and Kara's heart went out to him.  
  
"I know Danny, I know. But you've got to understand, that Tommy's only looking out for us and trying to do his best. He worries about you, you know."  
  
"I know. I shouldn't have said all of those horrible things. I'm such an ass."  
  
Kara pulled back from her son, and rested her hand on his cheek. She smiled. "Don't tell it to me, tell it to him."  
  
Danny went down the stairs, and found Tommy raiding through the cupboards in the kitchen.  
  
"Tommy, I'm... well, uh I'm..."  
  
Tommy looked up to meet his gaze and smiled. "Yeah. I know. Me too." He then reached into the cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of scotch. "I figure I could use a drink." He paused for a second, and decided to commit his second act of the evening as a dysfunctional father. "Would you like a shot?"  
  
Danny smiled, mischievously, and quite frankly, stunned. "What, are you serious?"  
  
"Sure," Tommy responded, with a wink. "Just don't tell your mom. And don't be getting hung over, or I'm a dead man!"  
  
Danny let out a cheerful laugh. "Start pouring, old man!"  
  
The balance of the night was like old times, and Tommy and Danny stayed up to the odd ends of the morning talking. It was a night that the two were sad to see end. 


	4. Revenge and Regret

-4-  
  
REVENGE AND REGRET  
  
  
She attacked the punching bag, with no sign of slowing down, while the bag's chain thrashed and swung to its limit. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't wind down; not after the call.  
  
Damn that pompous little bald bastard. How DARE he? Did he honestly think she would sit back complacently and stay out of it once again, after what he had to tell her? If that was the case, then he was a fool to call her. This time she was going back, and there was nothing he could do to stop her. She was going BACK.  
  
And by God, she was going to get that son of a bitch.  
  
She focused on the white of the bag, seeing that ridiculous mask he had cowardly hidden behind. Her fists flew like missiles into the bag, impacting with a hard thump. She imagined herself destroying him in a thousand different ways, each way more merciless and painful than the last. Her hate was a never-ending fuel tank, which deterred her fatigue, and she kept at the bag, as the perspiration began to drown her clothes. Her hate. It was all she had left, and it was enough. She was ready. After years of training as well as physical and mental preparation, her resolve was unshakable, and she yearned for the moment to see him scream.  
  
Her hate. It was all she had left. Her hate, and beneath that, something far more harrowing; a mother's regret.  
  
With one last decapitating slam, she punished the bag once more, then walked away, frustrated.  
  
Easy Laurie, she cautioned herself. You're going to work yourself into a heart attack. Save it for him.  
  
How could she have let the Doctor talk her out of going back when the trouble started again in 1988? Well, the fact was that he hadn't. But then again, she wasn't really given a choice, now was she?  
  
After her brother Michael Myers' attack back in 1978, Laurie Strode would have fallen to pieces, had it not been for discovering the love of her life, Jimmy Lloyd. He was the young paramedic that was there for her, after Michael had nearly got her the first time. It was utterly ironic that something good had come out of the most horrifying night of her life. He was her hero, her knight in shining armour, the one who had stood by her side and faced that dark night with her. However, that hellish night had almost claimed him, as well.  
  
  
When Laurie had wandered out of her hospital room fearing Michael's pursuit, Jimmy had searched the halls looking for her. To his horror, he had found the head nurse, bled dead like a stuck pig, with an I.V. dangling from her wrist, her blood soaking up the entire floor in a crimson shimmer of death. He had turned to run and get help, when he had slipped on the floor. Jimmy landed head first, on the floor's bloodstained surface, and he lied there unconscious, in the throes of a concussion. The accident had likely saved his life, keeping him out of danger, in the form of Laurie's brother Michael.  
  
Once during that night before the paramedics had found him the next morning, Jimmy had made it to his feet, and out to one of the cars in the hospital's parking lot. He remembered seeing Laurie in it, and telling her everything would be all right. Then he remembered no more, as the concussion had taken him into its dark depths again.  
  
When he awoke, he was in the ambulance with Laurie. She cried at the sight of him, and the two embraced, and drove away with the cool mist of the November morning fogging the town in a vapour of white.  
  
The next few months were particularly rough for Laurie. But rather than bail, like most any other man would do, Jimmy stayed by her side all the way through, and shortly after, they had married.  
  
Then came Jamie. Sweet Jamie. The joy she had brought to their lives, was immeasurable, and for nine years, they were happy. However, Laurie had never truly recovered from Michael's attacks, and the very fact that he was still alive in a coma locked away somewhere played on her psyche.  
  
She cursed herself, telling herself she was foolish, in an act of trying to heal, but it was no use. She couldn't stand to be alone. She couldn't bear to even turn the lights off at night, worrying like a child that the bogyman would once again be under her bed. And she positively freaked during the summer storms, during the blackouts. If it wasn't for Jimmy, she would have never held it together. Jimmy. Her rock. Her world.  
  
Fate was truly an ugly thing, as Jimmy's life hadn't been spared that night back in 1978. It had just been prolonged.  
  
Laurie had just come back from her first day as a grade school teacher. Now that Jamie was older, she had resumed her studies and had graduated from college as a fully licensed teacher. She had always liked kids, and her first day on the job felt like a career in the making.  
  
When she got home, she took quick note that Jimmy's car was in the driveway. This struck her as strange, since Jimmy was working the night shift at the hospital, and usually had just gone into work about a half an hour before she had got home. She had seen less of him over the last couple of months with their conflicting shifts, and the nights were hard without him, but she was slowly building back her strength, and she also had Jamie. It was convenient that the little girl was as scared as she was in that lonely house in the dark of the night, and most nights her mother and her would share the same bed, in the comfort of each other's company. Little Jamie had thought the entire thing was her own idea, which served the pride of her mother well. They were like a couple of girls having a sleepover, 5 days a week, and it never got tiresome.   
  
Laurie pushed back a tear, and continued to remember.  
  
"James Christopher Lloyd, are you playing hooky, again?" Laurie made out in her best schoolmaster/truant officer voice as she entered the house, uneasily. She had started out into the house with a joke, in order to take the tension off her own irrational fears of entering that old house alone. Usually she had directed the jokes at herself, taking the edge off of her anxiety with a self-depreciating slight. Usually it had worked, but today her paranoia and anxiety couldn't be sated. In the end she had known something was wrong, but that didn't change the horror of what she found at the top off the stairs, when she opened the bathroom door.  
  
"Maybe you think you're going get lucky before you go into work late. Is that it, Mr. Horny-man?" Laurie swung the bathroom door open gently, and her sanity gave away.  
  
The weight of the shower curtain's bar was buckling in the center, as it strained to support the dead weight of Laurie's husband. The tight knots of the rope suspending him to the bar were fraying his broken neck with friction burns. His face was flushed purple, having taken his last breath hours before. A strange marking, like an arrowhead was carved into his chest, and on the wall above the sink, something was written in blood. Laurie screamed and dropped to her knees, sobbing and wailing, shaking back and forth.   
  
On the wall, the blood's message was simple and direct as it told its story in one simple word...  
  
Sister.  
  
It was Loomis that had found her.  
  
After emerging from a two-year coma as a result of the fire at the hospital, Loomis had taken it upon himself to aid Laurie in her recovery. The very fact that he was even alive was incredible to Laurie. It would seem that the good doctor was as indestructible as his most infamous patient. The gods had somehow seen fit to deliver him from the ashes of the fire. It was, in itself, a grand mystery.  
  
Perhaps it was because he had saved her life twice from Michael, or perhaps it was due to the fact that he had felt somewhat responsible for allowing the whole thing to happen to her to begin with. Whatever the reason, he stopped by her house regularly to check up on her condition. He encouraged her to confide in him in order to work through her problems, and even though it was his profession, he never charged her a dime. In truth, the Doctor had been a sort of a Guardian Angel to her, which probably explained why she had misplaced her trust in him.  
  
Laurie broke away from the memory, temporarily preoccupied with her renewed frustration and anger towards the Doctor. The hell with him and his pretentious condescending tone. He wasn't going to stop her this time. Not a chance. Don't get in my way, Loomis, she thought quietly to herself. I'll go through you too, if I have to, to get to him. Michael Myers was a dead man, nobody was going to get in her way. No one.  
  
Again, her mind switched gears, and returned to those hurtful memories. It was important to remember, to keep it fresh in her mind. As painful as it was, it kept her focus of purpose intact. After all, the pain fueled her rage, and she had to feed off it if she intended to accomplish her mission of vengeance.  
  
Loomis had found her in hysterics. He could hardly blame her. At the site of the grisly murder, Loomis' paranoia and obsession with Michael had refueled itself. One thing was for sure. Laurie Strode Lloyd had had a nervous breakdown, and he had to get her the hell out of Haddonfield. Loomis had to take her away; far away.  
  
So, fearing for Laurie's mental condition as well as her safety, Loomis made arrangements for her to be taken to his homestead in London, England, where she had taken up residence in his parents' house. He had inherited the place after his father had passed away 4 years before. He convinced Laurie as only he could, with his warm and re-assuring words. He convinced her it was for the best, and once she was better, he would bring Jamie to England for them to be reunited, and start their lives over. However, first she had to get better. The road was going to be a long one.  
  
Thus, Loomis had taken care of everything. For the sake of avoiding a public scandal and to keep the little girl Jamie safe, both Laurie and Jimmy were reported dead as a result of an automobile accident. Nobody was told otherwise, with the exception of the local authorities, Jamie, and Laurie's friends the Corruthers, whom took Jamie into their family as one of their own.  
  
Things had quieted for 6 months, and then again, all hell had broken loose.   
  
Suddenly, Michael had awakened from his long sleep, as Loomis had always feared he would. He did his best to stop him before the terror had started again, but in the end, a lot of people died. And Michael came after Jamie, Laurie's poor, defenseless, little girl.  
  
When Laurie had heard, she pleaded with Dr. Loomis to let her come home. Jamie needed her. She wanted to hold her in her arms and make it all right as she, her mother believed only she could. The doctor, however, was stubbornly insistent.  
  
"Laurie, I'm so sorry. But there's nothing you can do, my dear. What you need now is to concentrate on your own recovery. For your daughter's sake, listen to reason. You're no use to her in your present state. Besides, Michael Myers is dead, in Hell."  
  
Laurie hadn't bought it. She had sensed great apprehension masked beneath Loomis' words, and she was sure that there was something that he wasn't telling her; something gruesome, that he was protecting from her from. Laurie didn't care. She wanted to see her daughter.  
  
"You son of a bitch," she screamed over the phone at him. You have no right! She needs me! You've got no GOD-DAMNED RIGHT!!"  
  
Unfortunately, in the end, she was wrong, as Loomis and his fellow associate doctors had every right in the world, it would seem, in the eyes of the law. She was seen as a danger to herself, and they had invoked a court order to detain her in London until the doctors saw fit to judge her adequately recovered. They weren't about to let her set one foot in Haddonfield in the state she was in, let alone while Haddonfield had turned into a battlefield for survival.  
  
A year later, Michael had resurfaced again. When was it ever going to end? And worse yet, once the police had finally caught up with him, the station was attacked by some unknown party. Michael was gone, and with him, Jamie.   
  
The stress of her daughter's disappearance once again took a toll on Laurie's recovery. Her nights grew insistently sleepless, and day by day she had hoped in vain to receive some word. Anything, anything at all. She prayed to God for her daughter's safe deliverance, a prayer that apparently had fallen on deaf ears.  
  
Six long years had gone by. Laurie died a little inside, inch by inch, day by day.  
  
At last, the day had come when Laurie received the closure she was in desperate need for, although it wasn't the closure for which she had hoped. Michael had returned once again, and Jamie was dead.  
  
Laurie never forgave Dr. Loomis for letting it happen.  
  
After 4 suicide attempts, Laurie decided to play the doctors' game. Slowly, she regained her confidence and control, and she had even eventually begun to work with children again. However, working with the children at the school had proven to be increasingly painful, as many a time she would look into their small faces and see the face of her daughter, looking up at her accusingly.  
  
How could you leave me to die, Mommy? The phantom visage of her daughter seemed to say to her. Why didn't you save me?  
  
Laurie's growing guilt proved to be too much, and she found, bitterly, that she was no longer able to continue her job at the school.  
  
With the passage of time, her grief turned into rage. Her focus turned towards Michael, and he became an obsession. He was still out there, and he had not answered for his crimes. He had taken everything from her, including her hope. And a person without hope was a person without fear. She was no longer afraid, and she was ready to lie down her life in order to see him dead.   
  
Her hate for him continued to grow, and so she had trained in silent meditation, and she had waited. There was no doubt that he would turn up; he always did.  
  
And today, Loomis had delivered the news. It was time.  
  
Laurie walked over to the table, picked up her cellular phone, and punched in the numbers. "Hello, I'd like to speak to Lee Brackett, please." 


	5. Pursuit

-5-  
  
PURSUIT  
  
Benjamin Jo-Hanson grumbled as he wrung the mop out, and continued to work the floor. He was the janitor at the town's fire hall. Although for how much longer, was a question that hung in the air, because Ben was getting sick and tired of those fricken yahoos, and their petty pranks.  
  
He was mopping in the storeroom. Various equipment hung on the walls. One side hosted an arrangement of hooks with fire retardant coats hanging off of them. On the other side, 3 hoses rested in coils, along with several large red firemen's axes.  
  
Ben continued to mop, soaking up the soapy water on the floor. The employees' previous prank had almost been the last straw, two weeks ago. At lunchtime, after he had finished cleaning the toilets in the morning, he opened up his lunch pail to find two rather large turds sitting where his lunch had been. Attached to them was a note: "Hey Benny-boy! You missed these! Next time, don't wait so long to fix the flushers! HAW HAW HAW!! Love, the Gang!"  
  
He had stormed down to city hall screaming over that one. He would have quit then and there, had he not needed his job so badly.  
  
Behind him, a dark figure stood in the shadows, silently observing him.  
  
Ben stiffened, with the sudden eerie feeling that he was being watched. He didn't like working the night shift, but it had seemed like the solution when the city had suggested it, siting the fact that he would have fewer people on call to have to put up with. Gently, he set the mop down, and decided to check the place out. You never know when some punk kid is going to bust in and tear the place up, he muttered under his breath, as he made his way down the hall.  
  
A chill ran down his spine, as the lights from the streets played their tricks through the windows, while the shadows danced in receding and expanding cycles in the dim lit room. Most of the lights needed changing in this part of the building, and Ben found himself wishing he had gotten around to that little chore. The feeling persisted, and Ben was convinced that someone else was in the room with him.  
  
"Ah, Ben," he muttered again, to himself. "You're just being a chicken-shit dumb-ass." Still, he didn't like the feeling he had, so he quickly returned to finish his mopping so he could get the heck out of there.  
  
It was on his way back that he had noticed that two of the axes hanging off of the wall were gone. Damn it, he thought. They'll probably hassle me over that one too.  
  
He continued to mop.  
  
The next day, the sun came up, blazing the night away. All too soon, the afternoon had come, and the thick snow became blinding under the sun's light.  
  
Inside the garage adjacent to the cabin they had rented, Tommy worked at the Skidoo, completing some overdue routine maintenance. It had taken some work; he wasn't the most efficient mechanic, but the introductory course he had taken when he bought the machine 4 years ago was coming in handy. He had just finished replacing the spark plugs that had long since fouled up, and was presently clearing the machine's clogged gas line.  
  
However, he was confident that, as sad of a maintenance man as he was, the Skidoo would be ready to go after dinnertime. Then, maybe, he could take Kara and Stephen for a spin, as he began his restitution for dragging them off to this God-forsaken place.  
  
Winter had come early, to the small cabin in Northern Alaska, with the snow already smothering the ground when they arrived three short weeks ago. Luckily, Tommy had had the truck souped up with snow-mud tires, before they had left.  
  
Snow in October, Tommy thought with dismay. Danny had been right.  
  
Stephen and Kara will never forgive me, Tommy thought again, and continued to work.  
  
However, to his surprise, Stephen and his mother had been taking it quite well and were presently outside building a snowman, making the best out of their frozen environment when the temperature had become mild enough for the snow to get packy.  
  
"Look, Mommy, Stephen giggled mischievously, barely able to contain himself. "It's got a pee-pee!"  
  
"Kara looked down, and blushed slightly when she had saw where Stephen had placed the carrot. "Stephen!" She said with a slightly shocked yet undeniably amused tone, as she gave her adopted son an affectionate nudge. "Smarten up, you little bugger! Give me that!"  
  
Stephen began to giggle madly as his mother pulled the carrot out and put it in its proper place, on the snowman's face. They continued to dress and refine the snowman at the top of the hill, when Stephen's gaze fell to the brush below where he saw a distant figure watching them.  
  
"Mommy, who's that?"  
  
The smile on Kara's face dropped as she spun around to stare in the direction of her son. An edgy expression had taken over her face, and she narrowed her eyes to see what Stephen was talking about. She glanced towards the brush, and saw nothing.  
  
Stephen, honey, I don't see anything."  
  
"But Mommy," Stephen began to speak in protest. "There was somebody there! I…" Stephen looked up to face his mother, and abruptly let out a scream of terror.  
  
Kara spun around, only to come face to face with the familiar guise of a pallid, white Halloween mask. The figure blocking out the sunlight wasn't a man - rather it was just the Shape of a man – a hollow and empty husk, a mockery of the very form it was imitating.  
  
In the Shape's hand, suspended in the air ready to swing, was a machete. A glint of sunlight reflected off of it, and then it was rapidly hurtling towards Kara's head.  
  
Kara ducked, and the head of the snowman disintegrated with one hard decapitating blow, in an explosion of mist and vapour. Before the mist had even cleared, Kara kicked her leg out hard, connecting with the Shape's groin.  
  
The machete dropped and the Shape lurched back, in stunned pain. Kara briskly grabbed the blade, and buried it across the Shape's chest. It toppled over and rolled down the hill. Kara glanced down the hill to observe that the Shape had quickly made it to its feet, and was struggling up the hill in the deep snow of which it was unaccustomed to.  
  
Kara didn't bother to look back again. She took Stephen's hand, and began to run.  
  
Tommy dropped everything and dashed outside, at the sound of Kara and Stephen's screams. "Kara, what is it? What's wrong?" He began. His question was answered for him as the Shape began to close the distance behind them. "Get inside! NOW!"  
  
Tommy barricaded the kitchen door, as Kara grabbed a baseball bat from the corner to defend herself. They had expected the Shape to come crashing in, but silence had filled the room. Cautiously, with Stephen clasped against his mother at the other end of the room, Tommy made his way over to the door, and peered out the window beside him.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He turned his attention to Kara and Stephen, when the Shape came crashing through the door. Wood chips and splinters flew, and it was upon him. Before it could lock that death grip that Tommy knew all to well, Tommy brought his elbow across its head.  
  
Not this time, Michael, he thought.  
  
Immediately, Kara was flying to his aid, as she began to beat the Shape continuously with the baseball bat. With one final loud splintering crack, the bat snapped in two. Kara's hands began to wring from the pain of the bat's reverberation, and the Shape began to rise, unaffected by the beating.  
  
It began towards them, when Tommy grabbed one of the brass candleholders off of the fireplace and hurtled it into the Shape's face. Tommy's aim was impeccable, and the candleholder impacted hard, knocking the Shape over. It staggered for a moment, and then it began to rise when Tommy brought the hardwood kitchen chair over its head, knocking it flat. It fell limp, and lied unconscious, with Tommy on one side, and Stephen and Kara on the other.  
  
Immediately, with tears filling his eyes, Stephen went to run for his father.  
  
"Stephen – NO!" Kara pulled him back. Both her and Tommy knew this game all too well, not trusting the Shape's unconsciousness. It had snared many victims with this game before, and they were not about to make the same mistake as many others had, including themselves.  
  
Tommy reached into his coat and pulled out the keys to the truck, and tossed them to Kara. "Kara, take Stephen and go into town and get help."  
  
"But Tommy…"  
  
"Just go…NOW!"  
  
Kara bit her lip in bitter frustration, and rushed out the door. Seconds later, Tommy heard the truck start up and pull away.  
  
He then swallowed his fear, and tried to make his own way to the door, past the Shape. Sure enough, it lunged suddenly, and grabbed his ankle. With his free foot, Tommy kicked continuously for all he was worth, into the Shape's white facemask.  
  
The Shape's grip gave, and Tommy was running, his ankle throbbing, towards the shed. He slammed the metal door shut, and locked it from the inside. Moments later, the Shape was at the door, and Tommy could hear the metal screech as it slowly began to buckle under the Shape's strength.  
  
Tommy mounted the Skidoo, and revved it into life.  
  
"Come on in, you son of a bitch," he spat as he straddled the Skidoo and waited. "Bust right in – I've got your welcoming wagon, right here."  
  
Once Kara and Stephen had started to drive away in the truck, they turned around the shed's corner, and came face to face with the Shape once again. Kara hit the accelerator, and drove right for it. It leaped at the last moment, narrowly escaping the truck's impact.  
  
What the hell? Kara thought as Stephen cowered and hung his head in his mother's lap. There are two? Two? Just what the hell was going on, here?  
  
The shed's door let out one final screech, as the Shape flung it upwards. The moment the door was clear, Tommy slammed right into the Shape with the Skidoo. The Skidoo lurched over it, and Tommy drove away. He looked back, and the Shape lied still. He turned, and was nearly clotheslined by the second Shape.  
  
He ducked just in time, and circled around to face it. First he thought, how could there be two? Then more madly; what, does Wal-mart give out cultist discounts for pasty white masks?  
  
He considered fleeing, but knew that would be a waste of time. They would keep coming back, if he didn't do something about them now. Besides, right now, he had them in his sight.  
  
The Skidoo roared into life again, and went sailing into the second Shape, as it made madly down the hill. This time, the Shape hung on, and with one hand began to swipe the butcher's knife in it towards Tommy's face. Tommy managed to avoid it once, but the second time, he wasn't so lucky. The blade found its mark, and opened the bridge of Tommy's nose and both of his cheeks. Blood began to seep its warmth onto Tommy's face, and he veered the Skidoo to the left.  
  
The Skidoo brushed towards a large tree, and the tree smashed violently into the Shape's hand, sending the knife into the sky. The Shape began to slip below the blades of the Skidoo, and Tommy found himself smiling maniacally. A warrior's rage had overtaken him, as blood continued to seep down his opened face.  
  
In an act of final desperation, the Shape's hand pistoned forward and brought itself straight into the bridge of Tommy's nose. Tommy felt and heard the cartilage of his nose give, and his head went light. He flew off of the Skidoo, and it crashed into a nearby tree, pinning the Shape to it like a bug in an insect collection.  
  
Sweet Jesus, Tommy thought, as he struggled to keep conscious. An inch closer, and it would have buried my nose in my brain.  
  
Tommy began to crawl, his seeping face leaving a dark red trail in the snow, as he struggled to make it back up the hill. He had made it half way up the hill, hanging his head to the ground, when he stopped before a pair of black work boots. He looked up, to see a dark silhouette blocking the sky. When his eyes adjusted to the sudden loss of light, Tommy made out with sudden horror, the unmistakable face of Michael Myers.  
  
Although he wore no mask, it was unmistakably him. That build, that presence was hard to forget. His scarred pale face still bore the semblance of death, with its protruding cheekbones, and sunken, dark eyes. In his hands, he held two fireman's axes.  
  
With a gesture, Michael raised the ax. Tommy dropped to his knees, and began to laugh, accepting his defeat. Kids, Kara, I love you, he thought. Good luck.  
  
"Michael, my boy, I'm positively seeing you everywhere!" He cackled again, in delirium. He then knelt his head, and had time for one prayer.  
  
Then Michael swung the ax. 


	6. The Rescue

-6-  
  
1 THE RESCUE  
  
  
  
Michael brought the ax down hard, burying it deep in the Shape's skull. Its white mask parted in a split of spurting blood, and it dropped to the ground.  
  
Tommy spun around, dizzy and confused, just in time to see the Shape fall dead. He had noted that it was the first Shape, the one he had run over at the shed. In its limp hand lied the machete. It must have doubled back when Tommy had wrecked the Skidoo in the crash, and it had been about to finish him off.  
  
My God, he pondered, in sheer awe, as his head rang, promising a thousand aches to come. Michael Myers just saved my life.  
  
The world was just too strange.  
  
Michael marched over to the Shape's dead body and placed his foot on what remained of its head. With the other ax, he separated the Shape's head from its body. He had kept silent vigil over Tommy and the others over the last couple of years, dropping into town occasionally, observing them from afar. However, he had lost track of them with their abrupt departure from Denver, and the trail had been difficult to pick up.  
  
He was relieved that he had made it on time, as Tommy was quite good at covering his tracks, and he hadn't anticipated them to flee off to Alaska. That had slowed Michael down, and ironically, it had almost cost Tommy his life.  
  
Michael and Tommy turned in unison, at the sound of the second Shape freeing itself from under the Skidoo. With an incredible demonstration of strength, it flung the machine away from it, and rose gracefully. Its head turned to Michael's gaze, and their eyes locked. The Shape tilted its head in silent fascination, then began to approach.  
  
Michael picked up the second ax, and gave it a shake to free the decapitated head of the first Shape. The head wouldn't give, and Michael absently tossed the second ax aside, as he began to meet the Shape's approach with his own.  
  
Tommy observed with fascination that the two figures resembled a man approaching his own reflection. The steady mechanical pace was identical, and they moved with the same deadly grace.  
  
It's what he was, before I freed him, Tommy thought in a wave of sudden understanding. The Thorn curse - it was so simple. He should have known that those cultist bastards would select another as the curse's host, another innocent to destroy, in the name of doing their dirty work. After all, they had planned for Danny to take Michael's place after Michael had committed his final sacrifice, killing his son, Stephen. Still, Tommy was puzzled. How could there be two? And why was Michael still alive? Tommy had thought that Michael would have died with the Evil. Apparently he was wrong, and that had surprisingly turned out to be a good thing.  
  
The two approached each other at a break-neck pace, like two unstoppable juggernauts, bent on a head-on collision. Michael raised the ax, and brought it down again. The Shape met his attack, gripping the handle of the ax before it could strike its deadly blow, and snapped the handle in two. It then rammed the blunt end of the ax's head into Michael's face, driving him back.  
  
Michael recovered quickly, and lunged at the Shape. The two grappled for control of the ax, as they slammed one another back and forth against the trees, like two cars in a smash-up derby. Some of the smaller trees actually gave way, snapping in two at the force of their weight. Michael gripped the side of the Shape's head with his free hand, and rammed his thumb into its right eye socket. He felt the eye burst with a damp puncture, and crimson fluid spurted forward from the mask's dark socket. The Shape didn't care for the act, and responded in kind.  
  
With its left hand, the Shape grabbed Michael by the throat, and threw all of its weight into him. Michael's balance gave, and he came crashing into the ground. The Shape pressed the ax up to his throat, and tried to push it in. Michael's hands held it back in a deadlock, but the ax was slowly giving way to gravity.  
  
Michael had thought indifferently that this was the end, when the Shape's head was sheathed off. It disappeared in a streak of red. The head flew away and met the earth, spraying the snow with a bloody mist as it bounced to a stop. The headless body let out a geyser of blood, fell to its knees, and collapsed.  
  
Michael looked up to see Kara holding the machete, and she swung it once again. The blade dug deep into Michael's right collarbone, missing his head by inches. Kara ripped the machete free and began to swing once more.  
  
Tommy rushed over and gripped her wrists from behind, struggling to stop her from striking again. It was nearly impossible, as she struggled and squirmed like a snake, screaming with rage, and Tommy had grown so week. The energy was rapidly seeping out of him, and he struggled to muster his voice.  
  
"Kara! Stop! Stop it!! He just saved my life! LOOK AT ME!" He yelled, in desperation. Kara's tunnel vision of violence subsided, as she turned to him, hearing him for the first time. Her jaw fell open in petrified shock of his mangled face, and she began to sob, grabbing onto him, and holding him tightly.  
  
"Oh God, Tommy, I'm such an idiot! You knew it…you KNEW it, and I was too stubborn to listen. Oh God…Danny…we left Danny in Denver! If they found us…"  
  
"Easy, Kara, slow down. It's okay, Kara…it's…where's Stephen?" Tommy's head went light, and he struggled to keep conscious. He had lost quite a bit of blood, and the pain stung into his face, in waves.  
  
"I…" Kara began unevenly. "I left him in the truck. I told him to hide under the bucket seats in the back – I couldn't leave you Tommy, especially when I saw that other one coming back after you..."  
  
"Its all right Kara, you saved our lives. Go check on Stephen. I'm going to try to head back to the house. I'll meet you there."  
  
"Can you make it?"  
  
"I'll try. Just go get him."  
  
Kara ran off for Stephen, and Tommy slowly tried to make it to his feet. It had felt like he had just gained five hundred pounds in the blink of an eye, as his strength had completely left him. He came crashing down to the earth again, the snow padding his fall when the darkness overtook him.  
  
Michael rose from the snow slowly, his black trench coat smeared and covered in frozen hard snow as a result of his struggle with the Shape. Kara's blow had temporarily rendered his right arm useless. He walked over to Tommy, and slowly knelt down beside him. With his one good arm, he scooped Tommy up, and began to make his way back up to the house.  
  
Kara ran back to the truck, calling for Stephen. Her tension began to mount, when he didn't respond. She quickened her pace, and her heart dropped when she had reached the truck. Stephen was gone. Kara howled in grief, once again letting the self- loathing seep into her mind. This was all her fault. Could she ever stop screwing up? She hadn't wanted to leave Stephen, but she just hadn't known what to do. Tommy was in trouble, and she had made a rash decision. And Danny…  
  
Kara's brain screamed in overwhelming fear for her children, and she began to sob again, worrying for their safety.  
  
Back at the house, her state of mind hadn't got any better, as she sobbed uncontrollably, while trying to steady her shaking hand. Tommy had asked her, to her horror, to sterilize and sew up his injured face.  
  
"Oh God, Tommy, I can't."  
  
"Kara, you can," Tommy tried to remain calm and reassuring, despite the pain. Otherwise, I'm going to bleed to death."  
  
Michael stood over in the corner quietly, observing Kara trying to tend to Tommy's face. It wasn't going well. Her hands trembled, and she couldn't keep the wound closed enough to successfully push the needle through.  
  
Michael walked over and gripped Tommy's right cheek, clamping it shut with a surgeon's steadiness. Tommy winced.  
  
"Get away from him, you son of a bitch!" Kara roared defensively, as she turned, her eyes burning with hate.  
  
"Kara, its okay. IT'S OKAY! He's trying to help! For the love of God, JUST SEW!!"  
  
The deed had proved to be emotionally and physically exhausting, but eventually Kara had made it through it. She bandaged Tommy's face, after sterilizing it again. After, the sleep had embraced her, as she snuggled up to her injured husband.  
  
Michael stood watch, occasionally checking on Tommy, making sure his breathing was steady. He let the two of them sleep throughout the night. There was nothing more they could do right now, and they were both going to need their strength for the trials ahead. The ball was now in the cult's court, and he knew where they had to go.  
  
Later that night, right before dusk, Michael went back to the bodies of the Shapes to survey the scene. He noticed that there was another set of tracks departing from the truck, which had put to fact what he had already known. Stephen wasn't lost or running for help. He had been taken.  
  
Michael gripped the ax with the frozen head of the Shape, and freed it. He removed what was left of both of their masks, to see if their identities would tell him anything. They were complete strangers to him. They did inform him of one thing, however. He was starting to understand why there could have been two. The faces of the Shapes were identical. They were twins. 


	7. The Party

-7-  
  
THE PARTY  
  
"Nice glove, Danny," Gord said sarcastically as Danny climbed into the taxicab, in full Freddy Krueger gear. They were on their way to pick up Terri, to go to Justin's Halloween party. "Who are you supposed to be…Michael Jackson from Hell?"  
  
"Now that, wouldn't be as bad of a costume as it sounds!" Danny came back, with a sneer. "You ever see Thriller?"  
  
"Touché!" Gord laughed, as the two clasped hands in a brotherly grip, which suspiciously resembled an arm wrestle.  
  
"And you're one to talk!" Danny continued, "What's with that chainsaw, Mr. Black and Decker?"  
  
"Name's Ash. Housewares." They laughed again. "Although I don't know how the guy in that movie carried this thing around for so long. My arm's already starting to go numb from the weight!"  
  
"And it's going to make drinking a pain." Danny put in.  
  
"So true," Gord sighed. "Speaking of which…" Gord slyly pulled a metal flask from his shirt and watching the cabby wasn't looking back, he took a swig. Danny stifled a chuckle. Smiling, Gord handed the flask to him.  
  
"I saw that, son," The Cabby turned, and looked back at them. He had long haggard hair, and was wearing sunglasses at night, Danny noticed, to his amusement. The cabby looked to Danny like one of those "punk" rock stars his mother used to listen to; like that Lou Reed guy. "Best be giving me a swing of that, if you don't want any trouble." The cabby's hard weathered face broke into a quiet smile.  
  
The boys laughed in amused relief. "You got it! Gord said, as he handed the flask to the driver.  
  
The two were already half in the bag, when the cab pulled around to pick up Terri. She was running to the car, freezing, while clad in nothing more then her leopard skin loincloth, and a coat to keep her warm. Both of the boys let out a sigh of awe as she ran towards the car. Terri was gorgeous, and in that loincloth, she was looking good.  
  
With the effects of the alcohol taking its hold, Danny stopped to ponder his amazing luck over the last few months. Since he had moved here, he had felt awkward and outcast, but right from the get go, Terri had been so warm and inviting. This was especially puzzling to him because, he wasn't very good with girls, and she had been so popular. When she asked him to the school dance two months ago, he had just about flipped his lid. He had to do a double take just to make sure she was serious, and not resorting to some cheap prank put forth by one of her ditzy cheerleader friends.  
  
She had appeared hurt when he suggested such, and immediately a pang of guilt flushed through him. Quickly, he resorted to damage control, and graciously accepted her offer. The two had been going out ever since.  
  
It was absolutely amazing how warm and inviting she was, and so absolutely disarming. Danny found himself confiding in her about his deepest, darkest secrets, things he thought he wouldn't ever tell anyone. Even that crap back in Haddonfield, which he found hard to discuss even with his parents. He had exposed his soul to her, knowing that she would understand, and not judge him.  
  
At that moment, Danny realized how much he was in love with her.  
  
"Open up, you bastards!" She pounded on the door, which Gord had just locked. "I'm freezing my butt off out here!" Danny and Gord were laughing uncontrollably, and the cabby even managed an amused smile. " You jerks! Come on!! I'M FREEZING!"  
  
Finally, Gord opened the door, and still laughing, he let Terri by to sit beside Danny. On her way in, she elbowed Gord in the gut playfully, and punched him in the shoulder. "You're such an ass," she said, smiling.  
  
"I am what I eat!" Gord countered, and they were all laughing again.  
  
"Hello, handsome, Terri said, as she slid up against Danny and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, her silky blonde locks tickling his cheek in a dangle. Everything about her seemed to ooze sexuality. Danny stiffened in his seat, and smiled.  
  
"Hello, my beautiful jungle queen," Danny smiled as he took her in his arms and kissed her again. Is the magnificent queen Sheena ready to head to the jungle to party?"  
  
"Lead the way!" She returned his smile with her own, a smile that could erupt a volcano.  
  
"Onward, James!" Gord called to the driver.  
  
"Yeah, kid, whatever," the driver returned in his thick British accent.  
  
The party, as it turned out, was a huge success. The house was packed with people, dressed in an array of bizarre and interesting costumes. In the kitchen, a large rotund blond man in a blue sailor's cap was struggling with the pump to the beer keg. Frustrated, he took his hat off and slapped the thin man in the red shirt and white hat beside him across the head.  
  
"You broke the lousy pump, little buddy!"  
  
"Ow! I told you to knock that shit off, man! It gets old pretty quick! Give me the damn pump! I'll get it working." The thin guy in the red shirt and white cap placed his beer on the trashcan beside the keg.  
  
Suddenly, the trashcan's lid began to rise. The beer spilled to the floor, and a furry green face stuck its head out and looked around.  
  
"What the hell's goin' on around here? And what's all that racket?"  
  
The two men struggling with the beer pump began to howl in amused surprise. The large one began to laugh so hard, he fell to the floor, while his face turned beat red.  
  
"Well, don't just stand there like a couple of idiots! Hand me that funnel and let's start chugging! Seconds later, the funnel was in the fur face's mouth, and the fat sailor was pouring the beer in.  
  
"CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG!!!" A small group had gathered around the trashcan and started to chant.  
  
"Guys!" Justin greeted, with open arms, as Danny, Terri and Gord walked in the door. He walked over and gave Terri a squeeze, while staring at Danny over her shoulder. Justin's hair was dyed green and his face painted like some demented clown. Where he had found the purple suit was a mystery to Danny.  
  
"Danny, I thought I told you to wear a costume!"  
  
"Hardy har, har, clown-boy," Danny responded, with lack of amusement. He couldn't place why, but he didn't care for Justin. There was just something about him that made Danny feel uneasy. The same words out of anybody else's mouth would have made Danny laugh in good humour, but Justin's slights always seemed to come with a bite; there was always an undercurrent of true venom with them. But hey, it wasn't like Danny had a right to complain. Justin was friends with Terri long before he knew her, and who was he to tell her who she should hang with and who she shouldn't? The last thing Danny wanted to do tonight was upset her; over the last couple of weeks, she had hinted and alluded to tonight being THE NIGHT.  
  
"I've got a surprise for you at the end of the party," she had whispered in his ear while giving it a nibble, before they had stepped out of the taxi. Danny's heart began to pound with mad anticipation.  
  
As well, Justin and Danny shared, by association, the same social circles, so Justin had unfortunately become a pain Danny had to tolerate.  
  
Besides, Justin wasn't all bad…he always threw rockin' parties.  
  
After a brief trip to the kitchen to reload on beer, they followed Justin into the livingroom. The music was pumped to a maximum, and the house shook while the room flickered in strobes of orange. Below the lights, dozens of fiends, devils and monsters danced and partied in drunken delight.  
  
As the night grew on, the party got wilder. Danny had just won a face-off with Justin in a beer chugging contest. Justin had called Danny on, and Terri had playfully agreed to kiss the winner. Danny, never willing to back down from a challenge, had dropped five consecutive beer in the course of seconds. Justin stuck with him up until the forth, but gagged on the last, the beer spewing forth in a foamy mess.  
  
"You lose, Bozo," Gord said, giving Justin a condescending pat on the back. He too shared Danny's distaste for Justin, and acknowledged him as a necessary pain.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Justin spewed, his pride momentarily wounded. "Sure he won the small time round. But you babies ready to play ball in the major league?" Bouncing back from his defeat with a smile, he produced a bag and a syringe.  
  
Danny and Gord's jaws dropped in shocked unison.  
  
"Fuck off with that junkie-shit." Gord protested with a dismissive wave.  
  
"Come on, you pussy faggot. What happened to the trash talk? Put your money where your mouth is."  
  
"I don't like it," Danny said, uneasily. "I don't like the risks involved."  
  
"What, you think I'd set you up with a dirty needle man? This is top-line, man. Completely clean. And in case you hadn't noticed, you guys are the only ones I'm offering it to. It's not like I'm handing it out at the door."  
  
"I still don't like it." Danny maintained.  
  
"Just as I thought. Fucking wimp," Justin rolled his eyes in distaste, and then placed his gaze on Terri. "What do you say, angel? Want to hook up for the wild ride?"  
  
Terri paused, her gaze falling to Danny then back to Justin with a look of indecision. "I…I'll try it if Danny will."  
  
"What the hell?!" Danny exclaimed in protest.  
  
"Have you lost your mind, Kitten?" Gord put in.  
  
"Oh, come on, Danny. Aren't you the least bit curious? It's only once. It might be fun. Don't you want to try it just to say that you did?" She had that pout on her face; the one Danny had never been able to resist. She brought his face to hers, and pierced his heart with those deep blue eyes. "Come on, Danny, do it for me. Please?" She smiled that wicked smile, and Danny, having lost the first half of his inhibitions with the booze, felt the rest of his will giving away.  
  
"Yeah come on, Danny," Justin interrupted with a mocking tone. "Show some balls or Terri won't play with them!" He cackled madly, and cupped his crotch.  
  
"Shut up dip-shit!" Terri told Justin with a nudge.  
  
"All right," Danny finally gave in. "I guess it won't hurt…just once."  
  
"Man, you are fucking crazy," Gord spouted in outrage. "Have fun jabbing your veins. Count me out." With that, Gord retreated to the kitchen for more beer. He needed a drink.  
  
Danny and Terri rolled up their sleeves, and Justin tied the tension. He then prepared the needle and shot them up.  
  
Danny's head arched back in an explosion of sensation. Nausea seeped up within him, and he forced it down with a gulp. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the room begin to spin uncontrollably. When he opened his eyes, Terri was laughing madly and pulling him onto the dance floor.  
  
The strobe of the lights did not help his condition. The after-images of the lights took on a haunting ghostly presence, and the room and the people distorted in a thousand different ways. Terri, a woman possessed, continued to dance passionately, rubbing and gyrating up against him. This did nothing to ease the growing apprehension building inside of him. He was in a room full of monsters. Time seemed to speed up and then abruptly slow down. Suddenly, everyone was moving in slow motion, and Justin's face floated into his peripheral vision, like a disembodied balloon full of helium. His grin spread out across his entire face, bearing far too many teeth. He cackled with a shark's grin, the grin swallowing his face as it opened.  
  
"Hey Danny," Justin said, his voice deepened, and distorted. "You ever dance with the devil by the pale moonlight?"  
  
The boom of the music sent a dizzying quake through Danny's head. Then Justin was laughing. And laughing. And laughing. His voice rose, like it was infected with helium, and he continued to laugh. The pitch of his laughs met a maddening peak, and Danny screamed.  
  
A silence fell over the room as Danny fell to the floor, and launched his lunch. People looked upon him with grave concern, when Gord ran to him and helped him up. Then the music went back on, and people went back to the business of partying.  
  
"Danny, oh Jesus…are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm okay…just give me a minute to shake it off…"Danny said distantly. Gord didn't buy it. Danny was in a bad way, and Gord was thinking that maybe they should split.  
  
"Pussy faggot," Justin spat, and walked away.  
  
Gord flashed Justin a contemptuous scowl, and returned his attention to Danny. "Let's bug out, man."  
  
"No!" Danny screamed in overreaction. We're not leaving. Just give me some fucking space. I need a drink."  
  
You numb fuck, Gord thought to himself, beginning to feel a little angry at Danny. How could he be so stupid? He gestured to Danny, who was catching his breath, bent over and holding his knees. Danny caught his gaze and waved him off. There was no talking to him.  
  
Maybe Terri can help convince him, he thought.  
  
When he found her, she was chatting up a girl in a skimpy sailor suit. A wave of arousal fell over him, as he marveled at her beauty. God, she is beautiful, he thought. And damn, if she didn't look good in that leopard skin loincloth.  
  
As he walked over to speak with her, Gord noticed that she was uncharacteristically giddy. He wondered how much the drugs were affecting her, as well. Unlike Danny, she seemed completely fine, which struck Gord as odd. She was lucky to be ninety-five pounds, yet she wasn't showing a sign, except for the giddiness.  
  
Women can take a lot, Gord dismissed his skeptical line of thinking with a thought. Look at childbirth…can you see a guy squeezing a pumpkin out of a hole the size of a golf ball? He thought not.  
  
"Terri," he began.  
  
"Hey there, Gordo." Terri said with a whispery voice, as she placed a hand on his chest and flashed him a come hither glance. Gord was taken aback.  
  
"I think we should check out, Kitten. Danny's in a bad way, and I think he should sleep it off."  
  
She spared a nonchalant glance to Danny in the kitchen, then turned back to Gord and gave him that piercing stare with her deep blue eyes. Gord was beginning to feel uneasy, and torn. Danny was his friend, and he felt guilty for the way he was feeling right then.  
  
The truth was, he had always had a crush on Terri. But then luck swung its way to Danny, and Gord accepted it, trying in vain not to feel jealous.  
  
Seeming to read his thoughts, she jumped up and kissed him passionately. She forced her tongue into his mouth, and he thought he was going to faint.  
  
"Let's go upstairs instead," she said with her lips close to his, again in that throaty whisper.  
  
Gord was exasperated and confused. Too much was going down too fast. His head began to throb from overload. "What, what about Danny?"  
  
This time she didn't spare a glance. "Fuck him," she said with a contemptuous tone. "He'd be the one going upstairs with me right now, if he wasn't such a limp dick!"  
  
Gord angered a bit at this. How could she be saying this? This whole thing was starting to feel surreal. It was starting to feel like some sort of dark fantasy. Then Terri's hand slid down his leg, and cupped his crotch. She kissed him again, holding his bottom lip in a nibble before parting, and spoke yet again in that sexy throaty whisper.  
  
"You do want to go up don't you?" She began to pout. "I was starting to think that you liked me."  
  
At this moment, Gord's brain stopped working. The back up generator in his crotch kicked into overload.  
  
"What do you say?" she said, with finality.  
  
"Okay."  
  
She led him up the stairs, and once again that growing guilt began to worm its way back into Gord's mind. He felt awful for betraying Danny this way. He pushed the thoughts away. Screw it. Obviously, Terri wasn't as interested in him as he had thought, and someone was bound to be there, someday. It might as well be him. Hell, life was too short, and you needed to live without regret, he thought. And God he wanted her. He had always wanted her. He took another drink, and followed her to the bedroom.  
  
Once he closed the door, he turned, and Terri was on him. She kissed him passionately, and pulled his shirt, still buttoned, over his head. Before he could free his arms, she giggled and pushed him flat onto the bed, and within seconds she was straddling him, holding his arms above his head in the makeshift noose of his shirt.  
  
She flashed him a dirty grin. "Give me some sugar, baby," she spoke coyly, and her lips were on his again. Then she was kissing his cheek. His throat. His Chest. For a brief moment, Gord thought it was going to be over before it began. He had never experienced anything like this before.  
  
She's been holding out on you Danny-boy, he thought with mixed emotions. Sorry about your luck guy, he thought again.  
  
She worked her way down to his navel, and he could feel the warm heat of her breath. Suddenly she was back to face him again, he silk blonde hair dangling over him and she whispered in his ear.  
  
"Oh, Gord," she began, gyrating and rubbing against him. "I've got this sudden craving. I've got to have it."  
  
"What?" he said dreamily.  
  
She looked deeply into his eyes. "Let me taste it, Gord. Please? I need it so bad!"  
  
OH  
  
MY  
  
GOD  
  
Gord thought.  
  
His face broke into an open dirty grin. "Take all you like," he said with nothing but filthy intent.  
  
"You mean that?" Terri put her finger to her lip and feigned a look of angelic innocence.  
  
"You betcha!"  
  
"Aw, you're such a dear." She responded with that bubbly cheerleader enthusiasm. With a pinch of his cheek, she reached behind her back and pulled a knife from her belt and drove it into his chest multiple times. He struggled and thrashed, but she held her weight on him, and maintained her grip on his arms, which were still locked in his shirt above his head. She slit his throat and began to kiss him madly, the blood from his jugular squirting its warmth into her face, painting it red.  
  
"Oh Gord, that tastes so good. So good…"  
  
Down stairs, Danny tried groggily to regain his senses, but the room was still spinning. Justin walked in, and dead-bolted the kitchen door. He turned to Danny, and spoke.  
  
"Come on sport," he helped Danny to his feet and brought him out to the living room. We can't have you missing the main attraction."  
  
"Look," Justin laughed, and tilted Danny's limp head to see that some other guy was locking the living room door. "You can check in, but ya can't check out!" Justin laughed again.  
  
Danny's head spun around to meet Justin's eyes, confused. Just what was going on, here? Then the power to the music was cut, and Danny's gaze turned to the sound of a strangely familiar voice, thick with a British accent.  
  
The cab driver was standing on the buffet table, on the left side of the room. What the heck was he doing here, Danny wondered in confusion.  
  
"Is this for real? Or am I hallucinating again?" He said, weakly.  
  
"Oh, its very real, chief," Justin replied. "Watch and learn."  
  
"Children of the night," The cab driver began, while the audience looked on, in stunned amusement. He raised his hands, as if in sermon. "In one week's time, Cernunnos, Herne, the horned one, the god of the hunt, will rise, and with him bring the legion of the underworld. Then, the Eternal Hunt shall begin. Sadly, none of you will be here to see it."  
  
Bemused moans of regret and giggles ran throughout the audience. This was some party. The character on the table paused and grinned widely.  
  
Still grinning, he removed his glasses. "You're just the appetizer," he said and began to laugh. His eyes were black, like the eyes of a snake.  
  
Someone flicked the music back on.  
  
Then everybody started dying.  
  
Two men at the living room's entrance fashioned guns and began opening fire on the party. People screamed as the bullets riddled them, as their bodies shook in mad caricatures of their previous dancing.  
  
With long blades, two others cut down the ones that brushed by Danny and Justin and tried to get to the kitchen door. They butchered them madly, their crazed hacking unrelenting.  
  
In immobilized shock, all Danny could do was watch. Then Justin was in his face again.  
  
"Does this party kick ass, or what? He said and laughed that sickening laugh again. The laugh was cut short, however, when Danny buried his fist in his face.  
  
"Terri! Gord!" Danny called out as he ran up the stairs to the second floor, the only place left to go. In a desperate fit, he kicked the first bedroom door open, and froze in sickened disbelief at the sight before him.  
  
Gord lied dead, in a bloody mess, on the bed. Staddling him, sucking at his open throat was Terri, drenched in his blood.  
  
"She looked up and flashed him that innocent angelic look of hers. "Danny!" She called out with enthusiasm. "Surprise!"  
  
She went over to hug him, and he recoiled in sudden terror. He turned to run back out the door, only to come face to face with the cab driver. He was still grinning, his black eyes absorbing Danny intently.  
  
"What's the matter, kid?" Lose your nerve?" With that, he slammed his fist into Danny's temple. Danny dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.  
  
"Hey baby," Terri smiled and walked over to the cab driver, and gave him a squeeze.  
  
"Hello, little bit," he responded, and taking her in his arms, he dipped her and kissed her bloody face.  
  
"Time to go," He said, at last. "The boss wants his cargo as soon as possible." 


	8. Ominous Discovery

-8-  
  
OMINOUS DISCOVERY  
  
Pain screamed its way into Tommy's head, as he awoke from his long sleep. Every bone and muscle throbbed, and Tommy suddenly felt like he knew what his mornings as an old man would feel like, should he live to see his golden years. Groggily, he sat up and made slowly for the bathroom.  
  
He made out with bitter cynicism, the wrecked remains of his broken face. He glared sadly into the mirror. He was a mess. His eyes were two deep blotches of puffy purple, giving him the passing resemblance of a raccoon.  
  
A raccoon. Yeah. Right. A raccoon that had been hit by a bus, more like it.  
  
Three rather awkward bandages covered the deep and severe cuts he had received. Grimacing, he pealed them off, as they had soaked with blood, and it was about time his wounds were cleaned. What he found underneath made him nauseous. The string that they had found in his tackle box held his cheeks and the bridge of his nose together, in an obscene patch-job. The flesh around his wounds was tender and flushed, threatening the inset of a bad infection. He barely recognized himself. His hair hung in knotted tufts. His own reflection reminded him of Frankenstein's monster.  
  
Not so pretty now are you, Pretty-boy Doyle, he thought bitterly, and laughed.  
  
He went back over to the bed and picked up the laptop. Keep it together, he thought. Focus. Concentrate.  
  
After all, he had to stay rational, if he was going to be any good to Stephen. It took everything he had not to freak out when he found out that Stephen had been taken, but he had to keep it together for Kara. She wasn't doing well at all. She was contending with a lot on her plate – not only with her overwhelming guilt over her decision not only to leave Stephen in order to help them, but also with her shortsightedness with respect to not insisting that Danny had come with them. They were unable to reach Danny, and Kara was ready to snap.  
  
"Don't overreact," he had tried to comfort her. "No news is good news," he made out with a smile. Not that he believed it for a second. Things were going bad in a big way, and Tommy was as concerned about their inability to reach Danny as Kara was. But worrying and fear made you helpless, and helpless was the last thing he wanted to be.  
  
Concentrate. Stay focused.  
  
Then there was Michael, to add to the sheer complexity of the situation. It was absolutely amazing how twisted and bent out of shape the world had become in a few short days. He had come back into their lives, but not with a killing stroke. He had come back to save them, free from the curse that had held him captive all of those years.  
  
It was, admittedly, a little hard to swallow.  
  
"I don't like it," Kara had said. "I know he saved us, and I know we need him, but...it's just so hard. I keep looking at him and wanting to bury that ax in his head." Kara's feelings were understandable. Michael after all, had murdered her entire family, and that was just not something you could kiss and make up about.  
  
Surprisingly, Tommy had found himself feeling sorry for Michael. How utterly terrible it must feel to wake up into the world after a thirty-year sleep and discover that you were the most hated man alive. And thank God, he DID arrive. His presence was the only sign of anything remotely resembling divine intervention, amidst this supernatural nightmare. Tommy thought that perhaps he was the only one who didn't hate Michael Myers. Then again, he never found his mother hanging dead from the attic with a hatchet sticking out of her.  
  
Also, it didn't change the fact that he was still afraid of Michael, a fact that he was reminded of when Michael clamped down on his hand when he picked up the phone to call Dr. Loomis. Michael's eyes flared with life on his usually expressionless face at the sound of the doctor's name, and he had prevented Tommy from making the call. Tommy's heart stopped as Michael looked deeply into his eyes, and spoke.  
  
"No," Michael said, simply, and directly. His voice was strong, but surprisingly quiet, almost whispery. "Think," he spoke again, giving Tommy time to take it in, and then it came to him.  
  
Of course, Tommy thought. Loomis was the only one on the face of the planet that knew where they were going, thus he had to be responsible for the cult's discovery of them here. But why would Loomis betray them to the cult? The man Tommy knew would die first before putting them in jeopardy. Loomis' parting words to them were to get as far away from Haddonfield as possible. Why would he give them up?  
  
Reading Tommy's look of strained comprehension, Michael provided him with the answer.  
  
"Before I fled from the institution, I heard the Doctor scream from behind me, where I had just killed Wynn, and left his body." Michael paused. He didn't like to talk. He was unused to it, and he didn't care for the sound of his own voice. It sounded to him like a door long rusted shut, opening for the first time in years. "I think whatever lived in Wynn has now claimed the Doctor."  
  
The revelation sent a deep chill down Tommy's spine. He was dumfounded.  
  
Once again, Michael spoke. "Come with me. There's something you need to see."  
  
Michael had taken him to see the bodies. This time Tommy didn't need any explanation for what he was seeing. The heads of the Shapes were twins. It made perfect sense.  
  
Tommy was reminded of a documentary he saw on suppositions and observations on the relationship between identical twins. He believed that even Dr. Loomis had written a paper on it. In both, the unusual correlation between the shared bonds of twins was explored. Several cases detailed how identical twins have claimed that they can feel when the other is upset or hurt over great distances, and of a shared possible "sense" of knowing at times what the other was thinking. The suggestion was that identical twins, having started as a single egg, still maintained an extra- normal intuitive bond. The documentary went the distance further, coining the phenomenon as a "psychic bond". Loomis' paper however, tried to remain grounded in scientific impartiality.  
  
God help us, Evil is getting inventive, Tommy thought. Whatever had taken over the doctor was clearly using his facilities to its advantage. Tommy found himself morbidly impressed by the ingenious move to inflict the Curse on identical twins, and marveled at the cold simple pragmatic aspect of it. One curse. Spliced into two beings, like a cable cord extension. Man, were they in trouble.  
  
Keep calm. Stay focused, Tommy reminded himself again, and turned the laptop back on. He was waiting for an e-mail from his contact. During the years he spent researching information about Michael and the Thorn curse, he had stumbled onto his informant through means of an information sharing chat-line, which dealt its deeds in mythology, lost histories, and supernatural occurrences. Most of the people on the line came across as stuffy librarian types, and his contact was no exception. However, his contact seemed to actually KNOW more, and always managed to provide him with information that no one else was capable of.  
  
It was, his informant claimed, a result of the classified guild he worked for, which was the reason why he had chosen to remain anonymous, as the information he provided Tommy could put his job and station in jeopardy. He went by the e-mail alias of Methos, and that was all Tommy knew about his Internet confidant.  
  
Tommy opened his account. The message was there. "Thank, God, " he sighed. His relief was replaced by mounting terror, however, when he saw what Methos had to say.  
  
"Hello Tommy," the letter began. "I've done a little checking around for you, and I'm afraid it would seem that your situation is much graver than even we first had thought. If the information I've sent to you comes to pass, then the world is in for a whole lot of trouble. If I'm not mistaken, your humble little town of Haddonfield is poised to become the Bethlehem for the Anti-Christ."  
  
"Oh, shit," Tommy muttered to himself, as he continued to read, completely immersed.  
  
"Under the circumstances, I'd normally break my vow of anonymity and come to your aid, but, alas, I believe your time is growing short. As well, I am unfortunately detained by an emergency situation that has broken out here in Sunnydale. My thoughts are with you, and I hope this helps. Please keep me updated on how it turns out. Then again, should you fail to stop the things that are to come to pass, I will unfortunately know about it.  
  
Yours, Methos."  
  
  
  
Tommy rested his throbbing head in his hands. This was too much, and things were getting worse by the minute.  
  
Concentrate. Stay focused.  
  
Tommy returned to the laptop. He entered one of the accompanying files that Methos had sent, and began to read what his friend had to say.  
  
"As you know, the history and practices of Druid culture are elusive and difficult to track down. The Celts used no written language of their own, although the Druids could write in both Latin and Greek. They were forbidden to write down any of their knowledge with respect to their rites and culture an as such information was considered far too intimate and valuable to have its secrets divulged through the written word. As a result, they were more than proficient in keeping their secrets, to the frustration of many historians and scholars everywhere. I must say, that even my resources, had a time with acquiring significant information, thus the following outline is sketchy, at best.  
  
There are rare accounts of a Celtic Arch Druid known to us as only Myddrin. The name itself has been intersected with the myth of Merlin, from Arthurian lore. The two have occasionally been mistaken for the same person, due largely to their association with the construction of Stonehenge. Also, like Merlin, Myddrin is believed to be half demon, but unlike Merlin, Myddrin is about as nasty and ruthless as they come.  
  
As stated above, Myddrin was an Arch Druid, whose tribe worshipped Cernunnos, also known as Herne, the Horned God of the hunt, and collector of souls. It was believed that Myddrin was also the keeper of the Thorn rune, and used the curse of Thurisaz (Thorn) against neighbouring tribes. The suggestion is that he would encourage tribal marriages, resulting in family conceptions which he would then unleash the Thorn demon onto the unsuspecting families, and everyone in their way. This usually resulted in the destruction of the neighbouring tribes, while insuring the safety and prosper of Myddrin's own followers of the cult of Herne. The souls from the sacrifices of Thorn were offered up to Cernunnos, keeping Myddrin and his race in favor with their horned deity. Needless to say, Myddrin's reputation began to flounder with the neighbouring tribes, and they began to lobby against him.  
  
The final straw came when Myddrin attempted to fulfill an ancient prophecy of the tribe's which dealt with the manifestation of Herne on the earthly plain on the eve of Samhain, bringing with him the legion of the underworld. Upon this accomplishment, the "Eternal Hunt" is prophesized to begin, the end effect, being a world terrorized by demons and devils of unfortunately great numbers; in short, Hell on earth.  
  
The success of the ritual depended largely on chance, as the conditions under which it could be successfully employed were rather rare. From what can be pieced together, the bearer of the curse of Thorn, ("the befouled one") was to lay with an oracle, a woman of psychic and prophetic abilities, and sire a child. This child, bearing both the demon seed of the befouled one and the psychic energies of the oracle, was to serve as raw material of a sort, as the future host for the emergence of Cernunnos. The child would remain normal with the supernatural properties lying dormant, until the eve of Samhain where through ritualistic sacrifice, the boy would be slain by his father, the befouled one, and rise resurrected as Cernunnos, opening the gates of the underworld in his wake.  
  
Fortunately, oracles – true natural psychics – are hard to come by and are born rarely throughout time. Thus, Myddrin was forced to wait and watch. His patience had finally paid off however, and he had almost succeeded with the ritual, when the neighbouring tribes had stepped in.  
  
It was the abduction of one of the neighbouring tribe's women that finally brought the other tribes upon Myddrin. The young woman had been one of the Arch Druid's daughters, and she was to serve as the oracle in Myddrin's ritual. A fierce battle ensued, where Myddrin's tribe was laid to dust. The neighbouring tribes' sorcerers who had channeled their magical energies against him forced Myddrin himself into a mystical stasis. His body was gathered up to be burned, his evil cleansed by the purge of fire along with the two who had handled it. There was the fear of Myddrin transferring his essence to one of the others through touch, one of the enchantments Myddrin was able to invoke before his defeat.  
  
Myddrin's body was placed in one of the ancient deep barrows near Stonehenge, when some sort of unknown cataclysm occurred. It laid waste to the tribe bearing the body, and sealed the barrow in rubble. A short-lived effort was made to retrace the barrow's whereabouts, but with no results.  
  
Which brings to the present age. The long barrow had remained undisturbed for millennia, until its discovery in an archeological dig back in 1962. I think that you will find it of particular interest who headed up that dig – non other than Dr. Terrance Wynn, himself. He was the first to enter the barrow, and the first to find the body. His team was quite quick to rush in, however, at the sounds of his piercing screams. He spent a brief time in the hospital recovering from what was considered some sort of shock, and was released. Finishing his business in Europe, he returned to the states and took up his position as the head doctor at Smith's Grove county sanitarium, located at a short distance outside of Haddonfield. I think you can fill out the rest of the history lesson yourself. Except for one thing...  
  
In Dr. Loomis' journal about Haddonfield, there is a brief mention of some unexplained psychic behaviour with respect to Jamie Lloyd. The Doctor asserted that the little girl was capable of sensing Michael, and had systematically predicted and prevented at least one of his attacks through means of psychic precognition. On a darker note, the link seemed to work the other way with her channeling his psyche, resulting in her attack on her stepmother a year before, in 1988.  
  
It is with regret that I have to say I believe that Jamie was the missing link in the scenario. I believe that she was in fact the oracle, unwittingly and prematurely silenced by Wynn, who wasn't fully aware of what he was holding captive at the time. Wynn didn't have knowledge of what Loomis had known, nor access to Loomis' journal. Loomis was in the process of solicitting it at the time Jamie had resurfaced, and had just mailed the manuscript to his publishing house. Thus, it wasn't until Myddrin had transferred his essence from Wynn to Loomis, that he gained knowledge of Jamie's abilities, and of the latent potential locked in the DNA of her son.  
  
Your son, Tommy. I can't stress how important it is that you get him back. You've got to save him, and you've got to do it soon, for all of our sake.  
  
Which brings us to your strange new friend. I've done some checking on the mythology surrounding the Thorn rune, and apparently there is a side to it that alludes to protection FROM evil. Ironic, wouldn't you say? Whatever the reason, it would seem that although the demon itself has been driven from him, he is still affected by the rune, allowing him to maintain his abnormal strength, size and endurance. Whether or not he is susceptible to a relapse of the curse is anyone's guess, and I shudder to think what may happen once he comes in contact with your son. However, I don't think you're going to have much choice in that matter, as I think he's your only chance at getting Stephen back.  
  
At any rate, I don't think you have anything to worry about there, but just the same I've included a list of creative and inventive ways to take him out of the equation, in the event he manifests any demonic tendencies. I'd hate to be in your situation right now. Farewell, and tread carefully.  
  
Keep in touch. Everything I have is at your disposal, and I will come when I can. Just remember, Tommy; Live, grow stronger, fight another day.  
  
Methos."  
  
Tommy shut off the laptop. He was getting dizzy again, and given the grim information that Methos had slapped him with, he considered rolling into a ball and going back to sleep. Methos was right, however; they were running out of time, and they needed to formulate a plan. Tommy had something in mind, and it was time to consult the others. They probably weren't going to like what he had to say, especially Michael. Still, they had to do something, and do it fast. Tommy believed that they had the element of surprise, and if they were going to make use of it, they didn't have a moment to lose.  
  
Tommy popped a couple of Tylenol, and stiffly made it to his feet. 


	9. The Ride

-9-  
  
1 THE RIDE  
  
"How much farther, Neil?" Terri inquired absently, while curling a strand of her hair as they drove along the road.  
  
"We should be there by dusk," Neil replied, his dark sunglasses reflecting the landscape, as they made their way along the highway. The drive to Haddonfield had proved to be tedious and long. Neil meant it when he said they were going to drive on through, and they had only stopped a few times along the way.  
  
In the back seat, Justin sat alongside Danny, drinking root beer. Danny was in handcuffs and mildly sedated. Danny's face was ragged and worn. He hadn't spoken a word since they had abducted him. Why bother? There was nothing left to say.  
  
Instead, all he did was stare ahead at Terri, with ever-growing hate. What I'd give to bash in that pretty little head of hers, he thought, as he wallowed in his regret and self-pity.  
  
Man, he had fucked up. Big time. He had given everything up, for her. He had alienated his parents, and in the process of being so bull- headed, he had gone to that party. The realization came to him that if he hadn't attended the party, the lives of all the people that the cult had murdered there would have been spared, and he'd have been safe and sound with his family. And Gord, his poor buddy, his only friend, wouldn't have been butchered by Terri. Danny should have seen through her.  
  
But it was all in the name of love. What crap. Danny felt harrowed, empty. There was a ball of ice where his heart had been, and he felt as if he would never trust another woman again. He had bared his soul to her; he had exposed himself completely to a monster.  
  
There, you go, Danny ol' boy, he thought, scornfully. You've just learned two fundamental lessons in life:  
  
One – if something seems too good to be true it is.  
  
Two – some monsters can look like angels.  
  
In the front seat, Terri was droning on in a tiresome useless banter. She was blabbering something about booze and I.D.  
  
"…and I said, 'Give me a break, man. I'm 23 years old.' But the old fuck still wouldn't let me walk out with the bottle."  
  
"And exactly why do I care?" Neil responded with sneer. "Do you care Justin?"  
  
"Naw, man, zero degrees on the care thermometer." The two men laughed, and Terri's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.  
  
"Oh, fuck off," she growled. "I'm just trying to break the silence on this shit-ass ride."  
  
"Sometimes silence is a good thing," Neil smiled cruelly, and chuckled.  
  
"Yeah, sometimes it's downright beautiful." Justin added, and joined Neil in laughing.  
  
"Oh bite me." Terri pouted, crossed her arms, and angrily gazed ahead.  
  
"You're 23?" Justin and Terri turned their heads in unison, as Danny finally broke his silence. Even Neil, normally indifferent, spared a glance. "You don't look 23. I had no idea."  
  
"Why, thank you," Terri smiled and curled her hair, giving Danny that flirtatious glance that he remembered from the first day he had met her.  
  
"Then again, you don't look like a sick twisted bitch, either. Or a junkie whore for that matter."  
  
Terri's jaw opened in an "o" of outrage, and once again, the two other men roared with vicious laughter.  
  
Terri, controlling her anger, replied coolly. "You're quick to judge, there, Danny-boy," she fired back while giving his cheek a gentle pat. "I seem to recall you shooting up right next to me."  
  
"Just tell me one thing," Danny chose to ignore her retort. "How could you do what you did? Gord was your friend."  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't lose too much sleep over your little pal there, Dan- o. In case you didn't notice, I didn't have to drag him up to the bedroom." To Terri's satisfaction, Danny lowered his eyes from her gaze. She pressed on, with a wide sarcastic smirk. "He left you puking your guts out to have sex with your girlfriend. Not much of a buddy if you ask me. No big loss there."  
  
"Yeah, you convinced him to betray me, all right." Danny looked back up and met Terri's gaze once again. "You're pretty good at that, aren't you? Getting people to do things they wouldn't normally do. I'll bet the thought to screw me over never crossed Gord's mind until he met you. I can relate. I never thought I'd jab a vein, either. You shake your ass and throw a smile, and naïve dumb bastards like us fall in line. I bet if you had as many stuck on you as you've had stuck in you, you'd look like a God- damned porcupine!"  
  
Justin snotted root beer out of his nose, as he broke into sudden laughter. Terri bared her teeth, and raised her hand to strike. Neil grabbed her arm, while maintaining his eye on the road.  
  
"Easy, there, wildcat. Loomis wants him delivered unbruised."  
  
"Loomis?" Danny sat up alert, immediately recognizing the name.  
  
"That's right, Dan-man!" Justin turned to face Danny. "We're takin' ya to see good ol' UNCLE SAM! And Uncle Sam wants you!" Justin made with his best presidential pose, and pointed at Danny as if he were a potential new enlistee. He cackled at his own joke, apparently the only one seeing the humour it.  
  
Danny, not amused, glared at Justin with contempt. "Justin, nobody thinks you're funny. And while we're all laying our cards on the table, I think you should know that I always thought you were a dink."  
  
Justin's smile faltered. "Is that a fact, faggot? Well hey- why don't you laugh this off." He then grabbed Danny by the hair, and slammed his head into the doorframe. Danny's nose began to bleed with a spurt.  
  
"Now that's funny!" Justin's familiar sickening grin returned, and he snickered.  
  
"Justin, you fucking wanker!" Neil shouted, pissed off. "I told you, Loomis doesn't want him harmed!"  
  
"Fuck that old bastard. What's he going to do, cane me to death? The way I see it, you should have been running the show a long time ago. Why haven't you muscled up the balls to take over? You've got enough of us backing you, man."  
  
"You haven't a clue what you're talking about," Neil returned, quietly. "Pray you don't find out."  
  
"Bullshit. I'll wedgie the old fuck with his own dirty depends!"  
  
As Neil had predicted, they pulled into Smith's Grove at dusk. Neil got out first, and walked over to Danny's door. He opened it, and fashioned his gun to tell Danny not to mess around. Slowly, Danny got out of the car, and they made their way inside.  
  
They passed two security guards at the front desk, and made their way down the west wing, past a series of cells. As Danny made his way down the hallway with the others, he noticed a small figure bunched up in the corner of one of the cells, and recognized him immediately.  
  
"Stephen!" Danny called in exasperation.  
  
The small boy looked up with tears in his eyes at the sound of Danny's voice. Immediately, he rushed over to the cell and hugged his brother through the bars. "Danny!" Stephen then broke into an uncontrollable sobbing fit, and hugged his brother tight.  
  
"It's okay, bud, it's all right," Danny consoled his little brother as he knelt down to face the boy. A knot turned in Danny's gut at the implications of what finding Stephen here could mean. "Stephen…where's Mom and Dad?"  
  
"I don't know Danny, I don't know! These bad men attacked us in Alaska, and when Mom went back to help Dad, more of them grabbed me! I tried to fight – I did! But they were so big, and so strong…" Stephen wept again.  
  
Danny's blood went cold. For Stephen's sake, he tried not to show it. "It's okay, bud. I'm sure they're all right. Mom and Dad are pretty tough. I'm sure they got away." Danny managed a smile, but he didn't believe a single word he was saying. Jesus, he thought, his conscience nagging at him. Danny felt as if he could cry himself. This is all my fault. He thought, with growing grief. I should have been there…  
  
"We'll get out of this, Stephen. If I've got anything to say about it. I promise."  
  
"I love you, Danny."  
  
"Same here, kid. Same here."  
  
"Enough with the family fuckin' reunion," Justin interrupted, impatiently. "We're all touched. Really. But you've got an appointment with the Doctor, Danny. Fuck off, kid," Justin gave Stephen a hard push on his head, sending him down on his ass.  
  
Danny clenched his teeth in rage and drove both of his handcuffed hands into Justin's face. Before Justin could recover, Danny wrapped the chain around Justin's neck and began to squeeze the air out of him.  
  
"YOU PRICK! I'LL KILL YOU!"  
  
Instantaneously, Neil and Terri were on Danny, trying desperately to free Justin from his stranglehold. Justin's face turned six different shades of purple, and they were almost too late. In the end, they pulled Danny away, and Neil held him back in an arm lock.  
  
Terri went to check on Justin. "Hey man, are you okay?"  
  
Justin tried to nod as he panted, and clutched throat. Abruptly, he stood up and slammed the butt of his gun into Danny's mouth. Danny's lip split, as the butt of the gun knocked out two of his front teeth.  
  
"Jesus!" Terri yelled. "Loomis is going to have your ass!"  
  
"Fuck Loomis!"  
  
Stephen began to cry again, as they dragged his brother away to see the doctor. He wept uncontrollably, fearing that he would never see his brother again.  
  
And he was right.  
  
Once they reached the doctor's office, they found Loomis reading over his desk. At their arrival, he tossed off his reading glasses, and rose to greet them.  
  
"Ah, yes…Danny come in." He beckoned Danny to sit, when he noticed his bleeding mouth. "What happened here?" He turned to Neil for an answer. Neil scratched the back of his neck, and shaking his head, pointed to Justin.  
  
"He tried to break loose when we got him here," Justin said, with his usual shark's grin intact. "I had no choice. I had to paste him one. You understand, don't you, old bean? I mean, I was just doing my job."  
  
"Your job," Loomis mused, in contemplation. He glanced down for a moment, then met Justin's eyes. Gently, he smiled, and placed his hand on Justin's shoulder. "I understand . I understand just fine."  
  
Justin smiled, relieved. Suddenly, he felt a deep cold piercing pain, as he looked down to see that Loomis had buried a six inch blade into his gut, burying it to the hilt.  
  
"I understand that you can't follow orders." Loomis' teeth parted in a growl, and he ripped the knife upwards, spilling Justin's guts to the floor. The colour ran out of Justin's face, as he stared in dumfounded shock, then collapsed. "You've failed me for the last time."  
  
Amidst his shock and horror, Danny couldn't help but think hatefully; It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.  
  
"Neil, Terri, take this trash out of here and call for the cleaners. Take a gas can and one of the spare cars, and make it look like an accident."  
  
"Neil grabbed Justin's limp carcass, and dragged it out to the hall, leaving a blood smear along the white polished floor. Terri followed him, and the two left, only to be replaced by two rather large security guards.  
  
"Its so hard to find good help these days," Loomis said with a smile as he patted Danny on the back. The door closed, and Danny found himself out of the frying pan and into the fire. 


	10. Family Reunion

-10-  
  
FAMILY REUNION  
  
Michael zipped up the overalls, and went over to the table to pick up the mask. For a moment, he hesitated, and stared down into its black sockets. It seemed to look back up to him, and Michael had to push away the nagging thought that it was daring him to put it on.  
  
A silence filled the room, and Tommy sighed. When he had told them his plan, Michael had given him a penetrating glance, and for a moment, Tommy thought he could see a look of murderous intent in his eyes. But then the look was gone, and Michael agreed to the plan without a word.  
  
Tommy was actually, in retrospect, surprised that Michael hadn't put up more of a fuss. After all, he could hardly blame Michael for being apprehensive about what he was asking him to do. Michael then took a deep breath, and pulled the mask over his head.  
  
Kara and Tommy exchanged a glance each identifying the other's sensation of eerie déjà vu. For Michael, the experience was like slipping back into a snake's skin. An overwhelming sensation of claustrophobia surged through him, and silently, in the guise of the Shape, he made his way to the van, and climbed into the driver's side. Kara and Tommy followed suit and climbed into the back. Michael started the van up, and they were rolling.  
  
The plan was simple – Michael, posing as one of the Shapes, was going to infiltrate Smith's Grove County Sanitarium, and retrieve Stephen from where they were holding him captive. Upon his success, Michael had added his own second beat to the plan, in the form of high caliber explosives.  
  
Michael still retained some memory of the weekly rituals of the cult, and provided things hadn't changed much, there was always a weekly communion. The assumption was that while most of the cult was busy at the ceremony, fewer eyes would be kept on Stephen, thus making it easier for Michael to slip in. Secondly, after Michael retrieved Stephen, he would set up the explosives to the building, taking most, if not all, of the cult out in one thunderous explosion, including Loomis, who would be preoccupied with the ritual.  
  
Of course, their plan wasn't foolproof. Most of it depended on the element of surprise. It was unlikely that Loomis had predicted Michael to show up on the scene, thus, Loomis probably assumed that Kara and Tommy were disposed of. The absence of the Shapes over the last couple of days would set up no immediate alarms, as Michael recalled himself having gone renegade for days before returning to the cult's quarters, during the years of his numerous rampages. Therefore, when Michael showed up on the scene, the guards would likely let him walk on by, without question. The plan seemed all too easy, in theory.  
  
Of course, getting in was likely going to be a whole lot easier than getting out. Still, the number of guards that Michael had to contend with would be fewer, and he was confident that he could dispose of them before any alert was triggered.  
  
Michael parked the van just outside the main gate, and turned back to Kara and Tommy, giving them one last glance.  
  
"Good luck," Tommy said, and he had meant it. Part of Tommy's mind went back to the nagging sensation that he could be sealing Stephen's fate by sending Michael to retrieve him; Methos' warnings about Michael's possible relapse into evil had certainly not gone unheard. But Methos was also right about another thing – Michael was the only one who could do the job. Thus with time being an issue, Tommy kept the little warning of Methos' to himself, and decided to take the chance. After all, desperate times called for desperate measures, and they certainly made for interesting bedfellows.  
  
Then, without a word, Michael left the van and approached the main security gate. The guard at the front saw him walking up, and reached for his walkie-talkie.  
  
"Carl, it's Mitch. One of the Castle boys just showed up."  
  
"Is it Frank or Nick?" An electronic impression of a voice fired back with a static crackle.  
  
"How the hell am I supposed to know? They're twins. What, am I supposed to tell them apart by their stunning personalities and their gift to gab?" Sign him in. Loomis is expecting him. I'm buzzing him in."  
  
"Roger," the electronic voice signed off.  
  
"Don't call me Roger," Mitch tossed his walky-talky to the table, and opened the gates.  
  
The guard lived approximately a full thirty seconds before Michael entered the gates and broke his neck. Michael then entered the main corridor, and made his way down the hall.  
  
His first stop was just outside the main chamber room in the basement, in order to verify his hunch. Sure enough, things hadn't changed a whole lot in 10 years, and the service was in full swing. Michael experienced a slight chill at hearing the Doctor's voice in the throes of the ritual. It put him at odds; so strange to hear that voice saying those words. Michael didn't spare a second glance, and proceeded.  
  
Next, it was back up the stairs to the main lobby. Michael went over to the secretary's booth. A sign read on the desk: "Back in 5 minutes". A good time for the secretary to step out; lucky for her. Michael disabled all of the magnetic seals on the locks of the patients' doors. He then went from room to room, pushing all of the inmates out into the hall, doubling catatonics up with others to move them through the building. They moved like zombies, not questioning, nor really even conscious. They all did seem to have a built in sense of freedom however, and made hastily to the exits.  
  
Michael worried that he was taking a great chance letting the patients out to roam the street. But the idea of blowing them up in the explosion didn't sit too well with either him or the others. Besides, the place was more or less a minimum- security institution, and it was located enough out of town that they would likely just be picked up wandering the fields. After all that's what happened the last time Michael tried this little trick during his escape in 1978, and it had created a wonderful distraction for those members of the staff oblivious to the cult's presence at the institution, who were interested in actually doing their jobs.  
  
Now, time to get Stephen out of here, Michael thought. Logic prevailed that they would be holding Stephen in a confined section close to the chamber room, segregated from the main floor to avoid detection from intrusive health inspectors and other officials likely to stop by during the day. Sure enough, he found Stephen in one of the holding cells, with no more than a single guard. This was going to be easier then Michael thought.  
  
The guard was reading a book, when Michael began to silently approach. Michael was tremendously light on his feet for his size, and the guard hadn't noticed him until Michael was right on top of him. The guard barely had time to look up when Michael grabbed him by the neck and launched him into the power generator. The guard screamed as the electricity surged through him, and the panel box burst into flame, and then, just as quickly, went out. The room went black for a moment, then the hum of the back-up generator fired up. The emergency lights painted the room in a cool blue.  
  
Michael reached down and grabbed the guard's master keys from his belt. With a single twist, Michael opened the lock to the cell, and stared at the boy cowering in naked fear in the corner. For a moment, Michael lost his breath, momentarily taken aback by the sight of the child. He had never seen the boy up close before, and was dumfounded.  
  
Looking at Stephen was like looking back at himself, through time. The boy was his spitting image, as he had looked before he was scarred by the touch of the Evil. Michael froze with indecision for a moment, then slowly approached the boy.  
  
Stephen's eyes widened with fear, and his breathing rose and fell in hard pants. He began to panic. Michael knelt down to face the boy; his white facemask barely inches from Stephen's face. Michael pressed a single finger to the lips of the mask, gesturing silence. He then held out his hand gently, and opened it. In his hand, he held Tommy's lucky rabbits' foot. Recognizing it, Stephen understood, and, a bit apprehensively, took Michael's hand. Michael lifted the boy up, and made his way back down the hallway.  
  
The boy was tremendously light, and Michael suddenly thought of how easy it would be to crush the small child in his arms. He could picture its small bones crackling like twigs, as his massive arms mashed the small boy to jelly. For a moment, the killer instinct flushed through Michael's head, and he stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
No.  
  
It would not have him. He could feel the Evil's presence, trying to squeeze its way back in, and he pushed it away. As quickly as the sensation had overcome him, it was gone. Michael doubled his pace, and made his way with Stephen down to the front door.  
  
Suddenly, a security guard came out of the washroom, and spotting them instantly, he drew his gun.  
  
"Hold it! Just where in the hell do you think you're going with him? Put him down. Now!!"  
  
Slowly and casually, Michael placed Stephen, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, onto the floor. The guard walked over to the boy, and bent down to retrieve him, taking his eyes momentarily off of Michael. It was his last mistake. Michael's hand fired out, and mashed the guard's head into the wall. It popped like a grapefruit, as puss, blood and brain-matter spurted from it, in heaves. Stephen screamed at the sight of the obscenity, and fainted, in shock.  
  
As Michael reached the outside gate, Tommy and Kara burst out of the van to meet him and Tommy took the small boy from Michael's arms. Kara rushed after Tommy to the van, to tend over the child.  
  
Once the boy was secure, Tommy tossed the explosives to Michael. Tommy climbed back into the van with Kara, to try and wake Stephen as Michael turned his attention to the explosives. Michael had almost secured them, when he heard a strangely familiar voice from behind him.  
  
"Michael."  
  
Michael thought his ears were playing tricks on him. He turned, and came face to face with a ghost.  
  
Before him, stood his sister, Laurie Strode.  
  
"When did you start playing with bombs?" She was smiling widely, but Michael could see the look of pure hate in her eyes. "I always figured you more for the hack and slash type."  
  
Michael stood, dumfounded, as Laurie casually ambled up to him, her hands behind her back, with a slight dance to her stride.  
  
"So…have you got a hug for your little sister?" She said, and laughed.  
  
Michael blinked, still trying to comprehend whether or not his mind was playing tricks on him. Then the crowbar came slamming into his head, and he knew in a wave of pain that she was very real.  
  
He reeled back, and when he turned back to face her, the crowbar came flying back into his face a second time. Then a third. A forth. He tried to get a bead on her, to grab the crowbar, but she was so incredibly fast.  
  
He lunged at her, and she jumped back. She leaped with a spin in the air, and delivered a roundhouse kick straight into his forehead. Once again Michael staggered back, and Laurie spun the crowbar around like a baton, bringing the curved end's claws straight into the back of Michael's neck. The crowbar dug deep into Michael's neck, tearing deep into his flesh.  
  
Finally, Michael mused, through the pain. He grabbed the crowbar, and pushed her back, hard. Laurie fell back momentarily, but rebounded back on her feet with a flip-up, worthy of an Olympic gymnast. Her fist fired like missiles into his face, in a series of whiplash blurs.  
  
Brackett found himself cracking a smile as he stared at the struggle through his telescopic lens. That crazy kid, he thought. She had insisted on facing him initially on her own, and at first Brackett had thought she had lost her mind…again. Now, however, he found himself mesmerized by the woman's sheer tenacity.  
  
Go get him kid, he smiled to himself again. If only Annie could see you now.  
  
Former Sheriff Lee Brackett, father of Annie Brackett, Michael's first victim from 1978 and Laurie's best friend, prepared the rifle and waited for his mark. Laurie was one tough little bitch, but she couldn't keep it up forever. Even though she didn't show it, he knew she was tiring. So he readied the rifles, and waited. His moment came shortly after.  
  
Laurie's fist streaked out one final time, and Michael finally caught it. He gave it a small squeeze, bringing Laurie instantly to he knees.  
  
"Brackett! NOW!"  
  
Michael arched back at the sensation of several large tranquilizer darts stinging his back. His grip on Laurie faltered, and she snaked away, and reached for the crowbar again. She swung it up, and smashed it into his left knee. Michael's balance nearly gave, and he spun around in a drunk's stagger, when the overwhelming light of a van's high beams blinded him.  
  
"This is for Annie, you son of a bitch!" Brackett gritted his teeth and floored the accelerator. The van smashed into Michael, and he rolled over the top of it. He came spiraling to the ground and impacted hard, with the sound of meat slamming against concrete echoing the streets.  
  
Incredibly, Michael managed to stand, when the van came flying back in reverse. This sent him hurtling through the air, and this time he landed on his head. He did not get up again.  
  
Like two professionals hog-tying a wild animal, Laurie and Lee quickly began to fasten a series of shackles, ropes and chains.  
  
At the sound of the commotion, Tommy and Kara rushed to the back of the van and opened it. They swung the doors open just in time to see Laurie and Brackett fastening the last of the restraints and throw Michael into the back of their van.  
  
Both Kara and Tommy's jaws dangled open, and they spun to meet each other's gaze, in mutual shock.  
  
"Holy shit!" Tommy struggled to talk.  
  
"My God! That's my cousin! That's Laurie!" Kara responded, completely overwhelmed with surprise.  
  
"Laurie? But I thought she was dead!"  
  
Before they had any more time to sort things out, the other van was speeding off. Hastily, Tommy and Kara jumped into their van and followed.  
  
Michael lied in the darkness for what seemed like forever. When he awoke, he was dangling from a chain above a meat grinder. 


	11. The Shape of Things to Come

-11-  
  
THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME  
  
Amidst the chaos, Loomis growled under his breath. Around him, guards scurried back and fourth. Some were attempting to restore the power, and others were covering the grounds and building in a full search for the boy. Everyone was attempting to do their jobs briskly, and none dared to approach him, or even make eye contact with him. They all knew his was very upset, and none of them wanted to be in his way when he got so intensely angry.  
  
So strange that so many would fear this unassuming Doctor, a man past his prime and long past the age of retirement. Then again, no so strange, as they all knew what they were truly dealing with. Besides, the good Doctor Loomis no longer even looked in his 80's – he was somehow revitalized – rejuvenated by the dark force that held its hold on him. His once haggard and unshaven beard was now tapered and well trimmed, and the colour and vitality in his face suggested a man in his mid-50's as opposed to the 85 years of age that he had endured.  
  
Overcome by impatience, he stopped one of the head guards en route.  
  
"Status report. Now."  
  
"I'm sorry sir, but it doesn't appear as if the boy is any longer on the premises." The guard looked down sheepishly, while still feeling the penetrating menace of Loomis' stare. "But one of our on-duty guards managed to pull a plate number off a van that sped away from the premises. We should have no problem locating it within a day."  
  
"You have one hour." Loomis returned. "I want the van found, and I want an address. Have our men ready to move on my mark."  
  
"Yes sir." The guard responded curtly and shuffled quickly on his way.  
  
Loomis turned and walked the other way, towards the altar room. Damn them, he thought, wrestling with his own shortsightedness. He wasn't accustomed to being out maneuvered, and he didn't care for the feeling. He had underestimated them, and they had retrieved the boy, Stephen. But how?  
  
There was only one answer, really. Michael. The wild card. He had predicted many scenarios with respect to what Michael's plans would be, and he had anticipated resistance from him, even an attack. But he had never imagined that he would circumvent the demise of Tommy and Kara and devise a plan for retrieval of the boy. He had to admit, that he was impressed. Oh, so clever.  
  
But they weren't the only ones with tricks up their sleeves, Loomis thought. For one thing, they were unaware of the fact that he still held the Strode boy captive. Loomis breathed a sigh of relief that he had sedated Danny and left him in the office, rather than in the cell with the other child. Also, one of the guards had reported a struggle before seeing the van speed off. They had found explosives engaged to the building with the detonator unassembled. What could have caused the likes of Michael Myers to retreat before finishing his task?  
  
Loomis smiled. Of course. Laurie. He found himself glad he had made the call, and prayed that he would find them before Laurie had a chance to finish him off. The retrieval of Michael, after all, was as paramount as the retrieval of the boy. And finally he could put an end to Laurie. There were too many loose ends, and it was time to clean house.  
  
But first things first. He entered the chamber, and changed into his ritual robes. They thought they had everything figured out. They were wrong. He had one more final surprise in store for them, and it was time to play his trump card.  
  
"Hello, Danny," Loomis greeted the boy, secured to the stone altar in the center of the room. At the sound of Loomis' voice, Danny turned and made a fruitless lunge, as the chains held him securely against the altar.  
  
"Now, now, Danny," Loomis shook his finger back and forth, cautioning the boy. "I would save your strength, if I were you, for the task at hand. You and I are going to do great things, son."  
  
"Go to hell, you traitorous bastard," Danny spat spitefully, glaring with deep hate at the Doctor. "You're nuts if you think I'll go along with anything you ask after what you've done to us."  
  
"Loomis laughed quietly, and cupped Danny's chin with his hand. He then jerked Danny's head sharply to the side, causing the boy to cry out involuntarily. With his teeth emerging in a small growl, Loomis put his lips up to Danny's ear, and whispered.  
  
"My dear boy, you talk as if you had a choice."  
  
A silent tear of fear streamed down Danny's face, and satisfied, the Doctor stepped away.  
  
"Well then, I would say it's time to begin. Wouldn't you?" Loomis brandished a knife, and sliced the tip of his finger. To Danny's horror, Loomis began to use his bleeding tip as a writing utensil, as he began to draw a symbol on Danny's bared chest.  
  
"Get away from me, you fucking pervert! You twisted fuck! I'll…"  
  
"Be silent." Loomis placed the tip of the knife to Danny's throat, and pressed lightly. Fear flooded into Danny's brain, and he did what he was told.  
  
Loomis finished his mark, a shape resembling an arrowhead, one long line with a triangular engagement; the mark of Thorn. He then turned to the end of the altar, and scattered the ruins upon it.  
  
"From the depths of the underworld, I call upon my minion, Moldthurs. The earth giant. Consume the anointed and rise again. By the power of these runes, your keeper commands. Step forward from the shadows, Thurisaz, and be reborn."  
  
Danny released a deep sigh, as the room went cold, and suddenly, he was dimly aware that Loomis and him were no longer alone. A presence unseen, yet familiar was about him, and he panicked with faint recollection. Darkness overshadowed him, and in desperation he turned to Loomis.  
  
"What- what do you want?" He screamed in fear. "What are you doing to me?"  
  
Loomis turned from his benediction, and stared down deeply into Danny's soul. His black eyes pierced the boy with terror, and then Loomis opened his mouth to speak. Except the voice that came out was not his own. It was the voice Danny had heard for the first time 10 years ago – it was the voice of the Nightmare Man.  
  
"Kill for him, Danny."  
  
Danny screamed, as he felt it enter him, seeping its way through his pours. His skin, previously cold with gooseflesh, was suddenly on fire. Danny began to twitch and convulse violently, like a man in the midst of a severe seizure.  
  
In vain, he tried to fight it as it entered his mind and began to smother him in its blackness, and he screamed again when their psyches met and it showed him its true face.  
  
"OH GOD MOM…  
  
OH GOD NO…MOM I'M SORRY,  
  
I'M SO SORRY I LOVE YOU  
  
I'M SORRY OH GOD…"  
  
Danny's spine jerked back one final time, and his struggling thrashing body collapsed to a limp rest. His breathing steadied, and for the last time Danny closed his eyes.  
  
It was the Shape who opened them.  
  
It rose, and faced Loomis, its black eyes taking in its keeper and its newfound Shape. Loomis gestured down to the altar's side, where he had laid a white facemask. The shape bent down, and lightly traced the features of the mask, momentarily marveling at it, in fascination. It tilted its head, in contemplation. It then donned the mask and put it on. It followed suit with its attire, and once fully clothed, it rose again to face its master.  
  
Loomis smiled. Even demons had a sense of fashion, it would seem. Or perhaps its draw to the mask was its featureless and cold unemotional daunting presence – perhaps it saw its true face in its death-like appearance with its hollow empty sockets reflecting back into its own black eyes. Whatever the reason, the thing inside Dr. Loomis had no problem with entertaining its minor fancies. It had lived too long not to be somewhat of a traditionalist, after all. Besides, he wanted them to know when death came knocking on their doorstep.  
  
"Dr. Loomis," Loomis turned at the sound of a familiar voice. Neil had entered the chamber room with Terri, careful not to disturb the ritual in progress.  
  
"We've got a bead on the van. It's heading toward the east end of town on Dundas Street. It's being pursued by another van. We've got a man on it now."  
  
"Very good," Loomis turned to Neil to discuss procedure, when the Shape's gaze fell before Terri. Abruptly, it stepped past Loomis and stood before her.  
  
"Danny?" Terri made out, with a hint of uncertainty. "Is that you?" She placed her hand on the Shape's blue jumpsuit, and traced her finger along its zipper. A naughty smirk crossed her face, and she looked up into the mask of the Shape and stared into its sockets, with her deep blue eyes. "Wow."  
  
The Shape gently placed its hand along her cheek in a gentle embrace. Terri closed her eyes, and gave off the passing resemblance of a purring cat being stroked. The Shape's hand continued to caress, and it ran its fingers past the line of her jaw, and down to her neck. It then clamped down tightly and raised Terri off of the floor.  
  
Terri's eyes bulged open in sudden shock and she kicked and thrashed, to no avail. Neil turned, stunned, and ran towards the Shape to break its grip. "Bloody hell! Let her go! Now!" Neil tried the pressure points at the Shape's wrist, without any positive effects. Absently, the Shape grabbed Neil by the face and pushed him back. The force of the thrust sent Neil crashing into the altar, his shoulder impacting hard. Loomis walked over to altar, and smiling, he knelt down beside Neil.  
  
"Now now, Neil, my dear fellow. You aught to know better than to deny my new disciple his first sacrifice." Neil fashioned Loomis with a less than thrilled glance, then looked down miserably.  
  
Terri's eyes stared down in widened horror, as she desperately gasped for air. Just when she thought she had breathed he last breath, the Shape released her, and she came crashing to the floor. She breathed deep, and just as she was about to crawl away, the Shape grabbed her by the hair and dragged her over to the altar. It slammed her violently against the stone surface, and she roared out a series of screams and pleas.  
  
"Neil, Doctor…please make him stop. Please!" Neil continued to stare down in misery.  
  
"Its funny how they all resort to the same tiresome pleas, before the end, don't you think?" Loomis gave Neil a nudge and smiled.  
  
The Shape grabbed the dagger Loomis had used to cut his finger, and holding Terri down by the throat, it slammed the knife into her, over and over, each stroke leaving a resounding puncture in its wake. Terri's screams went on undaunted, until finally, the Shape slid the blade deeply across her throat and finished the job.  
  
Terri's hands which had been flailing like talons, dropped limply to the altar's tone surface, making the smacking noise of dead meat. The Shape stood back from the altar, and stared intently on the result of its handiwork.  
  
Neil rose and left without a word. 


	12. Facing Old Ghosts

-12-  
  
FACING OLD GHOSTS  
  
  
  
Tommy had to resist the urge to slam the accelerator to the floor, as they pursued the other van. Easy, big boy, he cautioned himself. Don't get crazy. But how could he not? Things just kept going from bad to worse, and he wasn't sure how much more his sanity could take.  
  
His mind continued to creep back to the previous five minutes, when Kara had managed to rouse Stephen during the pursuit of the other van. Stephen had awaken, wide-eyed, and dropped the latest bomb of the day, bringing to light, their greatest fear. The cult had Danny. Stephen was, frantic, and began to plead to go back to save him. His mother wasn't far behind in that regard.  
  
"Jesus, Tommy! TURN AROUND! We've got to go back! We can't leave him! Did you hear me? I said turn THE FUCK AROUND!!!!"  
  
"WE CAN'T!!" Tommy screamed back at her, unusually cross. "Look at me Kara! I'm a fucking mess! And even if I was a hundred percent, they're on to us! Going back without him would be SUICIDE. He's the only one that can do it. Besides, he just saved Stephen, and we can't let them do to him whatever they have planned."  
  
Kara's eyebrows furrowed angrily, and she was about to speak. She reconsidered for a moment, and closed her eyes in frustration. Tommy felt like a first-class shit. He hadn't wanted to sound like he was indifferent to Danny's safety, for in truth, he was worried sick. But there was nothing to do but keep moving on, and try to stop Laurie from killing Michael. After that they could figure out what to do. Yeah, whatever, he thought. This whole deal is madness, pure and simple.  
  
"Maybe they'll just turn him over to the cops," Kara offered, in vain. Tommy flashed her a look, and thought to himself that things were just about as bad as they could get.  
  
He would have to think again.  
  
Suddenly, with a loud pop, the front tire of the van blew out, and Tommy found himself struggling to maintain control of the vehicle. It veered, and it took every bit of self- control left for Tommy to muster to keep them from rolling into the ditch.  
  
"DAMN IT!" Tommy yelled in exasperation as he brought the van to a halt and briskly climbed out to ascertain the damage. He then looked ahead, and grimly watched the other van trail off. Suddenly, it made a right down Vermilyea Road, and, a glimmer of hope flashed before him.  
  
Vermilyea Road. A dead end, and the only thing down that long stretch was the Tower Farm. He knew where they were heading.  
  
"Kara, Stephen, come on, we've got to move."  
  
"But Tommy, the van…"  
  
"Leave it. I've got a feeling that we haven't got a minute to spare…"  
  
Lee pulled the van into the driveway at the Tower Farm. Laurie got out and swung open the van's back doors, and the two strapped Michael to a dolly and wheeled him, still unconscious, inside. In the center of the main lobby was an industrial size meat grinder, with a makeshift platform and a hydraulic winch. They attached Michael's harness to the winch, and hoisted him up.  
  
Lee walked over to the cupboard at the room's far end, and retrieved a bottle of scotch and two shot glasses. Chivas Regal: nothing but the finest scotch for such an important occasion. He poured the shots, and walked back over to Laurie. She smiled.  
  
"We got him, Laurie," Brackett smiled back, as he handed the shot glass to Laurie.  
  
"You're god-damn right we did," she laughed as she took the glass. They toasted, and dropped the shot.  
  
Laurie closed her eyes and wiped her lip, as she took in the scotch's burning warmth. "And now for the main attraction!" She said, as she danced up the stairs to the platform, until she was practically eye level with Michael's limp carcass.  
  
"It's your show kid," Lee chuckled as he scratched his pepper-grey head and pulled up a chair, using an old pail for a footrest. "And me without my popcorn," he laughed again, and poured himself another shot.  
  
Laurie flicked the switch and roared the meat grinder to life. Its blades began to swirl rapidly, and they let out a piercing screech. "Rise and shine, sunshine."  
  
Michael raised his head, as he awakened at the sound of the meat grinder's deafening throttle. He glanced down briefly at his feet, to see that they were mere inches away from being hacked to bits by its blades. He then looked up, and through the mask, met Laurie's gaze.  
  
"My, oh, my, those blades look sharp, don't you think?" Laurie flashed Michael a malicious smirk. Why don't we see if appearances are deceiving?" She then reached down into a cooler on the platform and produced a large slab of beef, and tossed it into the grinder. Michael watched as the blades devoured it, and spat it out through a tube at the bottom, in little swirly streaks of mashed debris.  
  
"Hmmmmm…I think that'll do the trick, don't you?" Laurie smiled again, and Brackett let out a gut- busting chuckle.  
  
Michael was silent.  
  
"Well, this is it. Any last words? Come on, Michael. Perhaps a last request? A pathetic plea for mercy? What do you say? But wait…I want to do this right. I want to see your face when the blades begin to chew up your feet." She then reached over and pulled off his mask, and let it drop into the grinder, which made quick and short work of it.  
  
She then turned the grinder off, and faced Michael, only to be taken aback by his face. It was hideously burned, and his once blond hair dangled in dark knotted tufts around his forehead, giving him the passing resemblance of a corpse. But that wasn't what was bothering her…there was something more…his eyes. She saw something in them; something sad. An odd silence fell upon the room, and Laurie suddenly found herself uncomfortable under Michael's glance.  
  
She shook the feeling away, and asserted her condescending, patronizing tone, with yet another taunt. "Well, how about it Michael? Do you have anything to say before you make the trip to hamburger-land? I assure you that the trip is going to be a painful one, but feel free to beg for mercy a little. It would really make my day." She laughed, and not expecting an answer, she motioned for the power switch.  
  
She turned to face him one final time, when to her shock, he spoke.  
  
"I'm guilty of everything you think I am," He said quietly, his haunting glance penetrating. "Nothing I say or do is going to change your mind of that."  
  
Laurie lurched back, as if slapped, and suddenly, a pang of uncertainty flooded into her brain. Something was wrong; something didn't feel right, and for a moment she hesitated, and was unsure if she could actually pull the trigger. She glanced over to Brackett, who had an equally surprised and dumbfounded look on his face.  
  
He's trying to trick you, her inner-voice asserted. You didn't expect him to respond, and that's why he did. He wants to throw you off by speaking to him so you'll identify with him as a person and not as the monster that he is, in order to make you feel guilty about killing another human being. The devil has many charms in his lies, Laurie, don't be taken by his.  
  
"Go to hell," Laurie growled, her resolve reaffirmed, and she hit the power switch. The blades hissed into action, and Laurie began to drop the chain, when the grinder came to a screeching halt. The generator wound down, and the machine was suddenly quiet.  
  
"What the fuck…" Laurie spouted with exasperation as he looked down the platform to see that a person had just pulled the meat grinder's plug. Immediately, upon the arrival of their unexpected guest both Laurie and Brackett pulled heat.  
  
"Stay where you are," Laurie said coolly, as she walked down the stairs, her pistol drawn.  
  
"Whoa – hold it, Laurie, it's me. Tommy. Tommy Doyle." Tommy made out with some desperation, as he held his free hand up in surrender.  
  
"What? Tommy? Tommy Doyle? What the hell are you doing here?" Laurie gasped, trying to take it all in. "And what the hell happened to your face?"  
  
"You know this kid, Laurie?" Brackett called across the room, his rifle still drawn.  
  
"Back off Lee," Laurie waved him off. "I'll handle this." Brackett dropped his rifle, and resumed his seat in the chair. He poured another drink.  
  
"Tommy, listen to me…I don't know how you found me, and I know this looks really bad, but it's Him, Tommy, it's him – the bogyman. We've finally got him, and we…."  
  
"I know, Laurie," Tommy cut her off, in mid-speech. "But you can't do this. I know this is going to seem a little bit confusing and hard to take, but things aren't what they seem."  
  
Laurie gave him a blank stare. Frustrated, Tommy pressed on.  
  
"Look at me," he gestured to his injured face. Michael saved me from what did this, and we need his help to…"  
  
"Bullshit."  
  
"Laurie, wait, you need to…"  
  
"Bullshit! Shut up Tommy, just shut up. I think whatever smashed your face must have jarred your brain. You're talking crazy, and I'm going to finish that prick off. Give me the plug."  
  
"No."  
  
Laurie paused for a minute, and sized Tommy up like a cat eyeing its prey. Then the look of menace was gone, and Laurie smiled at him warmly, and said, "Look Tommy, I've known you all your life. You're a good kid. I know you're a little confused right now, and you look like you could use some medical attention, but I'm only going to say it one more time…give me that damned plug. Then I'm going to stop asking nicely."  
  
"Laurie, I can't. We need his help."  
  
"Wrong answer." With lightning-fast speed, Laurie placed an arm-lock on Tommy and pulled the pressure tight. Tommy winced in pain; he was amazed at how strong she was. He wasn't sure if was largely due to his own weakened state, but in all his life he had never encountered a woman so strong. He guessed she was as strong as him, if not stronger. Still, he held a death grip on the plug and wouldn't let it go.  
  
"You little shit!" she screamed, "Let it go, don't make me break your arm!"  
  
Outside the main lobby, Kara heard Tommy cry out.  
  
"Stephen, I want you to go into that room and lock the door until I come back for you. If anyone, and I mean anyone comes near it or the window, scream for us. I'll be back in a second."  
  
"But Mom…"  
  
"Just do it, okay? And hide under that bed while you're at it…"  
  
With an eerie feeling of deja -vu, Kara left Stephen's side for the first time since his rescue, to once again run to Tommy's aid. When she swung the lobby door open, she saw that Laurie was on top of Tommy, with his arm bent back.  
  
"Give it to me or I swear to GOD I'll break it off!"  
  
Kara could see an older man chuckling on the other side of the room, while drinking whiskey, and she also took in Michael with the meat grinder. Her rage boiled.  
  
"Take you hands off of him!" She screamed, calling herself to Laurie's attention.  
  
Laurie looked up in surprise, and immediately recognized her. "Kara? You too? What the hell is going on here?"  
  
"What's going on is that we're trying to save my son's life, and you're in the way."  
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?"  
  
"My son. In danger. We need him to help." Kara pointed at Michael, while still engulfed in her rage, and before she even knew what she was saying, she said, " Some of us actually care about our children, Laurie."  
  
"What?" Laurie's eyes narrowed to two dark slits as she took in Kara's words. "Just what in the hell do you mean by that?"  
  
"Where the hell were you all these years when your daughter was being stalked by a maniac? You might as well have painted a 'kill me' sign on her head, the way you abandoned her to die."  
  
Kara choked out the last word, and fell silent, unable to believe that she had just said what she did. A deafening silence filled the room, and Laurie dropped her eyes for a moment. She looked to Kara as if she were ready to cry, then Laurie's fist fired out and sent Kara sailing across the floor.  
  
"You self-righteous bitch!" Laurie screamed, as she grit her teeth and attacked Kara in a mad frenzy. She began to slap Kara's face over and over. "How dare you! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!!"  
  
Tommy went to pull Laurie off, when he heard the loud click of a revolver's chamber cocking near his ear. He turned to look down the barrel of Brackett's gun.  
  
"What's the rush, sport? Don't do anything stupid."  
  
From above, Michael took in the situation with a bird's eye view. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then began to flex his arms, pressing them against the tension of the chains. The chains began to dig into his skin, bruising it under their pressure. Trickles of sweat ran down his forehead, as he pressed his muscles to the limit. The chains tightened one last time and then broke with a loud snap, sending him plummeting into the grinder.  
  
Everyone turned at the sound of the noise.  
  
"Fuck," Laurie spouted and turned back to Tommy, more aggressive than ever. "Give me that fucking plug."  
  
Lee, turning his attention away from the others, walked up the stairs to the mouth of the grinder. He peered slowly over the edge, and didn't see a thing. He leaned over a little further, when Michael sprang up from the darkness and closed his hand around his throat. Lee got off a shot, blowing a hole just below Michael's right shoulder, before Michael batted the gun away.  
  
Down below, both Tommy and Kara were struggling with Laurie over the plug. Laurie had Tommy pinned, and was pressing her knee deeply into his back while trying to pry the plug from his hands. Kara lunged on Laurie's back and tried to pull her off. Her nails dug into Laurie's right cheek, and Laurie brought her elbow into Kara's stomach.  
  
Michael, while still maintaining his hold on Brackett, used his other arm to lift himself out of the grinder and up onto the platform. Once up, he dropped Lee into the chair at the platform's corner, and bent down to look at him, face to face.  
  
"Stay."  
  
Lee Brackett's bladder let go to signify that he understood.  
  
Michael then turned and proceeded lightly down the platform's stairs. Kara was bent over holding her stomach in pain from Laurie's blow, and Laurie was struggling relentlessly with Tommy over the plug, oblivious of Michael standing right behind her.  
  
Michael reached out and grabbed Laurie tight by the shoulders, and ripped her away from Tommy. Laurie turned, and her eyes went wide with sudden shock when she realized that it was Michael that now held her. She began to thrash and swing madly in Michael's grip, to no avail.  
  
Go ahead you son of a bitch! Go ahead and get it over with! She pounded and swung at his face, ferociously, while baring her teeth. Michael backed her against the wall, and held her tight. "Well what are you waiting for, cocksucker? Here I am. Go ahead and do it but don't expect me to scream and don't expect me to fear you. You've destroyed everything I ever had. Rot in hell." Laurie spat spitefully one last time into his face, then closed her eyes, and waited for the end.  
  
Once she was still, Michael eased his grip, and backed away.  
  
Breathing in hard pants, Laurie opened her eyes, confused and unsure. She gave Michael a puzzled look, and looked to the others then back to him. Her breathing grew heavier, and built to the point of anxiety.  
  
Everyone in the room was silent, while they waited for the other shoe to drop. Laurie's face contorted in anguish, and she burst into tears.  
  
"No!" She screamed and began to pound on Michael's chest once again. Michael made no effort to stop her, nor did he move away. "Don't you dare, you son of a bitch! Don't you dare take away my hate! It's all I have left!"  
  
Laurie's pounding gradually slowed down, and she collapsed to her knees, sobbing in sorrow.  
  
Tommy went to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Laurie, please. There's so much you don't know. Just hear us out."  
  
"And what?" Lee said, finally screwing up the nerve to venture down from the platform. "We're supposed to forgive and forget? Just like that? I don't think so kid," Lee began to walk towards the door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Kara called out.  
  
"To the police."  
  
"If you tell them about us, we'll tell them about you and what you tried to do," Tommy made out with a weak threat.  
  
"Kid, I used to be a cop. I know half of those guys on the force, and trust me, when they find out who you've shacked up with, they'll probably offer to give me a hand. Stick around. I won't be long…and I'll be sure to bring some friends." Lee then turned to walk out of the room, and ran straight into Michael.  
  
"Oh, great," Lee muttered, and scratched his head with a sigh. "Just bloody priceless."  
  
"Lee, wait," Laurie spoke up. Her voice was grainy and worn, but surprisingly calm. "He had us dead to rights, Lee – both of us. And he didn't kill us. Something's up…maybe we should listen to what they've got to say."  
  
Lee groaned, and flashed Michael a contemptuous glance. "Fine. It's not exactly like we have a choice anyway, now is it?"  
  
Kara, went to the other room, and called for Stephen to open the door.  
  
"Mom, is everything all right?"  
  
"Yes, dear, everything's fine. Come with me. There's someone I want you to meet."  
  
The two walked back into the lobby, and over to Laurie, who was still on her knees on the floor, with her head down. Tommy had fetched her a blanket, and wrapped it around her shoulders.  
  
"Laurie," Kara began.  
  
Laurie looked up at the sound of her voice. She had gone very pale, and her eyes were blood-shot from crying. "Hmmmm?"  
  
"I'd like you to meet Jamie's son, Stephen."  
  
Laurie's jaw dropped, and suddenly, with a surge of energy, she stood upright. "Wh-what? You mean…oh my God!" She exclaimed and hugged the boy tight.  
  
Stephen gave Tommy a weirded-out glance, and Tommy laughed. "Kiddo, I'd like you to meet your Grandma Laurie."  
  
"Oh," Stephen said, surprisingly calm, in light of the present situation. "Hello," he said, and smiled at Laurie.  
  
"Hi, yourself, Laurie smiled back, still crying, and hugged the boy again. This time the boy made a comedic choking face, and even Brackett couldn't resist a chuckle.  
  
"I just can't believe it," Laurie said, as Stephen went back over to his mother. "I had no idea. Who's the father? Does he know about him? Have you contacted him?"  
  
Tommy groaned, and put his hand to his head. It was going to be another long night. 


	13. Halloween

-13-  
  
HALLOWEEN  
  
The sun began to drop, painting the sky bright red, as the Ghouls, Goblins and Sailor Scouts emerged from their dark dwellings, and started to prowl the streets. The demon presently going by the name of Neil took them all in, in their youthful enthusiasm, as he drove through the downtown core. They amused him, these children, with their costumes and antics. "Trick or treat," indeed. They knew so little about true monsters, but soon, very soon, that would all change.  
  
Next to him in the passenger side, sat the Shape. Neil spared a glace over to his passenger, and his temporary pleasant mood faltered. How he hated it. All the millennia he had spent as its watchdog aside, he now had a personal reason to hate it – Terri.  
  
Not that he cared particularly more about her then the legions of other women that had struck his fancy through the ages, but she was HIS. And Myddrin had allowed the Shape to take her, without even so much as a simple consultation. Neil was beginning to think that Justin was right, despite the idiotic tendencies that had eventually got him killed; maybe after all of this time, it was time to step up and take control. Nothing would please him more than to see Myddrin meet a grim end, but such was a task easier said than done.  
  
Certainly, if Myddrin were less formidable, the deed would have been done ages ago, but Neil had to remind himself that the very reason he continued to dwell on this plane was facilitated by Myddrin. And in this form, Neil was little more than human, and had great reason to fear the dark sorcerer. He was as well unfortunately bound to Myddrin, forced to do his bidding, as a result of the incantation that brought him forth from the underworld.  
  
However, with the coming of the Eternal Hunt and the emergence of Cernunnos, all of that would change. Myddrin would no longer be the biggest boy on the block, and with the child's sacrifice, the doors of the underworld would open. The way Neil saw it, he wouldn't have long to wait; Myddrin's demise would soon come to pass. After all, surely Herne would favor a true minion of the underworld to such half-breed swine as the likes of Myddrin. Yet still the old wizard was very powerful, and Neil resolved himself to the fact that, even then, he would have to tread carefully.  
  
He turned back to the Shape. It sat there docile and unmoving, staring straight ahead, out through the windshield. It barely seemed alive, until, as if sensing Neil's eyes on it, it slowly cocked its head aside, and studied him quietly. Neil cringed under its glance, and turned back to the road, focusing on the task at hand.  
  
After all, everything hinged on the re-acquisition of the boy. Neil didn't see it as a problem. All of his men were in place at the Tower Farm, waiting for their cue. It was simply a matter of delivering death to the doorstep of those who would defy them, and as luck would have it, death was riding shotgun with him.  
  
Neil smiled widely, and continued to drive. Soon, he thought, very soon.  
  
Laurie walked up the stairs and found Kara in the bedroom at the end of the hall, staring pensively out into the evening. The look of sheer dread and grief- stricken worry was one Laurie easily recognized. Laurie couldn't blame her. Tommy had filled them in on the events of the last few weeks, and even though Laurie didn't know what to make of most of it, one thing was abundantly clear to her; this woman was worried sick about her son. Laurie quietly stepped into the room, and approached Kara by the window. Kara broke her gaze from the window, and turned to face Laurie.  
  
"Hi," Laurie made out with a gentle smile. "How are you holding up?" Laurie inquired, hoping that there were no resonate feelings about last night's misunderstanding.  
  
"I've been better." Kara made out, with a forced smile.  
  
"Listen, Kara, I'm really sorry about what happened. It's just that everything is so upside-down…"  
  
"It's all right, trust me I know. I can't believe I said what I did. I don't believe that, Laurie. I remember you coming over to baby-sit when I was a kid. I know you, and I know if there were any way you could have been there for Jamie, you would have. I just can't stop screwing up…I've been making the wrong choices ever since this whole nightmare flared back up, I…"  
  
Abruptly, Kara burst into tears. Laurie went to embrace her, the years falling away. "Shhhhhhh, now…it's okay. You were protecting your man, the way I see it, and you've got to understand – none of this is your fault."  
  
"I'm just so worried about Danny," Kara made out amidst her sobs.  
  
"Don't worry. We'll get him back, if I've got anything to say about it. I promise." Laurie hugged Kara tight, wincing at here own words. The truth was, none of them were sure what to do.  
  
Downstairs, Lee and Tommy were bashing out ideas on just that subject. Tommy and Kara had hoped to be safely out of town by the 30th, and on their way back home to find Danny, when the chance encounter with Brackett and Laurie had occurred. That had kept everyone up until the wee hours of the morning with Tommy explaining and giving explanation to an endless tiresome onslaught of questions. Now, here it was Halloween, and it was getting dark. Stand or flee? Either choice, at this point seemed risky.  
  
"Well, kid, I think we're better off here then the road," Lee Brackett made out, after some quiet deliberation. "There's a good chance they haven't got a clue where we are, and if we have to encounter any unexpected guests, better to do it grounded and stationary, where we have some control over the situation. The highway, at this point, could prove to be dangerous."  
  
Tommy nodded. "I suppose you're right, but we could be in for more of a party than you think."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"I don't know, but my landlady belonged to the cult for years, and I had no idea. We can't trust anybody who comes near the premises."  
  
"Then let's get going on securing the place. It looks like one way or the other, we could be in for some action. I hope Butter-cup the Homely Hobo over there can be trusted." Lee gestured toward Michael, who stood outside the front porch, on watch.  
  
" I wouldn't be here living and breathing, if we couldn't trust him."  
  
Lee sighed, and scratched his head. "I hope you're right kid."  
  
Changing gears, Tommy said, "And what about Danny?"  
  
"We wait it out tonight, then get the girls on the road early with Stephen. Then you and I will head down to the station and see if there's anyone I still recognize and trust there, and we go get him, locked and loaded." Lee tried to say this with utmost certainty, knowing full well that the plan was flimsy at best. Appreciating the gesture, Tommy nodded and put his head down.  
  
Lee reached over and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. Tommy surprised at the gesture, looked up. "Keep it together kid. We'll do everything we can to find him. It's all we can do."  
  
"All right," Tommy shook away his brooding thoughts and turned his attention to the present dilemma. "So show me how to fire one of those guns, and let's barricade the place."  
  
As they continued to talk, Michael silently entered the room and proceeded up the stairs. At the top, he gently pressed his hand against the bedroom door, and glanced in on Stephen. The boy was sleeping soundly, thoroughly exhausted. For a while, Michael watched Stephen sleep, marveling once again at the uncanny resemblance to the face he had once stared into the mirror at, as a child, before his life was eclipsed by the darkness. Looking at the boy in his peaceful slumber was like looking into a dream of a different life, a life where there was family and light and love. No death. No violence. Just warm smiles, old uncles, and the unity of family; a sense of belonging.  
  
Then the door behind him slammed, and Michael spun around to face Laurie, across the hallway. Her guard was up. Michael met her gaze, as she eyed him carefully. A silence fell between the two of them, until the throttle of a car engine rapidly approaching sent Laurie sailing by him, and down the stairs.  
  
Tommy and Lee rose to the sound of the engine, and looked out the window to pin- point it, but they were unable to find the car. Suddenly, the high beams flared on, and the car came crashing through the front window.  
  
It came smashing through the room, leaving debris in its wake, and sideswiped Lee, sending him flying into the wall. Tommy fell over the television set, causing it to arch in electric jolts. The room clouded with dust.  
  
For a moment she stood indecisive, unable to determine whether or not she should enter the room to find out what happened. Faintly, through the thickness in the air, Laurie thought she could make out Tommy's distant limp shape on the floor, and decided to venture the risk and go to help. Laurie took a deep breath, and was set to enter the room, when Michael's hand clamped down on her wrist.  
  
"Get behind me,"  
  
She gave him a brief skeptical glance, then stepped aside to let him ahead of her. Michael's eyes narrowed, as he stepped past the stairway, and slowly entered the room. A cloud of white had enveloped the room in a thick dust -fog, as he continued to make his way across it.  
  
Then, without warning, the fog split as the Shape buried a pickaxe into Michael's chest, narrowly missing his heart. He lurched back in sudden pain, as the axe's blade passed through him, and pinned him to the wall. Blood spurted from his mouth, and his body fell limp.  
  
Laurie screamed in shock, and fell back. She began to stumble up the stairs, when the Shape grabbed her by the neck and hoisted her off of the floor. Laurie's face flushed as she began to choke, when Tommy lunged out from the dusty abyss and smashed a pot vase over the Shape's skull. The Shape dropped Laurie, spun around, brought its arm around in a backhand, and collided it with Tommy's face. Tommy felt the piercing pain of several stitches ripping open, and then he fell back, into the oblivion of unconsciousness.  
  
At the sound of the commotion, Kara emerged from her room, and ran down the stairs only to come across the Shape, as it knocked Tommy back- words. The Shape turned at the sound of her arrival, and losing interest completely in Laurie, it stepped over her, and began to pursue Kara up the stairs.  
  
It had reached the first step, when Laurie kicked its weight-bearing leg out from under it. The Shape came crashing down, and smashed headlong onto the hard floor. Laurie dashed up the stairs, to Kara and Stephen, whom recently awakened, stood wide-eyed in a daze of confusion.  
  
Laurie pushed Kara and Stephen into one of the rooms, and picked up a pump shotgun that she had stored in the closet. She gave it a sharp pump, and they barricaded the door, and waited.  
  
Minutes passed, though they felt like hours. Kara, could feel Stephen's rapid pulse beat next to her own, as she held the boy tight. Still, there was no sign of life on the other side of the door.  
  
"What should we do?" Kara asked, looking to Laurie for the answers.  
  
"Well, there are two options. We either tie those bed-sheets together and try to make it down the side of the building, or we open the door up and see it's there."  
  
"Bed-sheets," Stephen and Kara said in unison, which Laurie would have found comical, had the situation been under different circumstances.  
  
They tied the sheets together making one long one, fastened it to the end of the bedpost, and let the sheet drop. Kara began to climb down first, in the event that the Shape had gone back downstairs so that they could provide cover for the boy, in the event they had to make a run for it or fend the Shape off. She felt a brief wave of vertigo, as she looked down at the jagged black iron fence that surrounded the building's perimeter. She stopped halfway down on the top of the work shed, took a deep breath, than continued. Once her feet hit the ground, Laurie pulled the sheet up and fastened it around Stephen's waist.  
  
"Okay, Stephen, you next. Be brave, I'm going to lower you down. Hang on tight."  
  
"Without a bit of a fuss, the boy bravely crawled out of the window and readied himself for the drop.  
  
"Brave, kid," Laurie smiled, and started to drop the sheet.  
  
Suddenly, a butcher knife slammed through the door, and it became quickly apparent to Laurie that the Shape had grown tired of the cat and mouse game. It was coming through, and fast. Laurie tried to maintain her composure, and carefully continued to lower Stephen, but when she heard the hinges of the door give under the force of the Shape's strength, she jerked involuntarily and for a second lost her grip, which sent the boy plummeting rapidly towards the fence's sharp pointy top.  
  
The boy screamed, and at the last minute, Laurie regained her grip. Stephen could see the sharp ends of the fence at an arm's length, and sighed in relief. He pictured them piercing his small form, and closed his eyes in a shudder. Laurie slowly lowered him further, when Kara ran over. She untied the boy and lowered him to the ground.  
  
Laurie had only begun to pull the sheet back up when the door gave with one final shattering splinter, and the Shape came lumbering in, knife poised. She turned, and dodged its swing at the last minute, as the blade came streaking by her head and dug deep into the wall behind her. Laurie dove across the room and, with a roll, she retrieved the shotgun. The Shape ripped the knife out of the wall and turned to face her.  
  
Laurie fired the gun, and the force of its blast sent the Shape hurtling out the window. From below, Kara watched its massive form drop in a rain of glass, as it landed back-first on top of the iron fence. The top of the fence tore through it, as the Shape's limbs sprang out in a futile jerk of outrage, only to collapse in a limp sprawl.  
  
Kara slowly made her way around the body with the boy, towards the fence's exit. Suddenly the Shape re-animated, and swung the knife, still tightly held in its hand, in a sharp air-cutting sweep. The two fell back in shock, and to their growing horror, the Shape began to use it's free hand to hoist itself up on the very bar it was impaled on, beginning the process of freeing itself.  
  
Kara wasn't about to give it that chance. She swung open the tool shed, and brought out a rusty square metal shovel. She brought the shovel down across the Shape's neck as hard as she could, partially severing it's head. Blood spayed in an upward geyser, as the Shape thrashed futilely. Kara brought the shovel down again, this time severing the Shape's head, once and for all. Stephen screamed as the head bounced to the ground, and he covered his eyes at the hideous sight. He got up and ran towards the house, right into Laurie's arms.  
  
"It's okay, Stephen, honey," Laurie consoled the boy as she hugged him tight. Come inside." Laurie spared a glance to Kara, and brought the boy inside.  
  
Kara dropped the shovel, and walked unsteadily over towards the Shape's severed head. An eerie familiarity in its dead stare had consumed her, and she found herself unable to turn away. An unnerving wave of desperation fell over her, and before she was even aware what she was doing, she was prying its mask from its severed head. She pulled the mask off with a final tug, and let out an agonizing scream of grief.  
  
The scream was piercing and sad, and Kara's haunted howl shook through the streets and into the house. Regaining his wits, Tommy slowly made it to his feet and rushed out the door to find, to his horror, Kara, swaying on her knees, cradling the head of her dead son. Her face was flustered and strained, and her eyes bespoke of a woman gone mad. Blood from Danny's head had soaked all over her, as she stared blankly and continued to sway and sob endlessly.  
  
Tommy's jaw fell open, and tears began to stream from his eyes, as he ran over to her. His own legs gave out, and he fell to his knees and embraced her.  
  
Kara screamed at his touch, a mad torturous scream of the insane. Her wail then wound back down into a sob, and silently, Tommy cried as he embraced his wife and dead son.  
  
Back from the upstairs window, Laurie looked down with a chill of grim familiarity. One look into Kara's eyes was all it took to tell her everything she needed to know. The mad helpless pain in her screams was all too familiar to Laurie after all, as they were the screams of wounds that would never heal.  
  
"Why is she screaming?" Stephen demanded from Laurie. On some level beginning to comprehend that something was dreadfully wrong. "Mom! MOM! Let me go, I want my mom!" Stephen began to squirm and struggle in Laurie's arms.  
  
"Stephen, honey, no…" but the boy had wormed himself free, and was running out the door before Laurie could catch him. He darted down the stairs, and past Brackett, who was groggily making it to his feet, cupping a rather large goose-egg on the back of his head as he rose unsteadily from the debris. Stephen turned and ran out the front door, right into Neil.  
  
"Why hello there, little chap! Neil let out a hearty laugh, and grabbed the boy tight. Stephen's eyes went wide with fear, and Neil cuffed the boy on the side of the head, knocking him flat out-cold.  
  
Brackett clumsily reached for his rifle, when Neil called out to him.  
  
"Not the smartest move of your life, papa." Neil taunted as he raised his pistol with his left hand and shot Brackett square in the chest three times. Brackett jerked sharply as each of the bullets impacted, throwing his body back. He crashed into the side of the wall, fell to his knees, and dropped silently, with little more than a rustle.  
  
Neil turned away from the body and looked onto Tommy and Kara. Tommy looked up at the sounds of the gunshot, and noticed with deep growing dread that Neil had them square in his sights. With his other hand, Neil brought the walky-talky up to his lips.  
  
"Unit 1, attend to the boy. Units 2 and 3 take the man and woman and remove the body from the fence. When you've delivered them, come back for Myers…and bring re-enforcements. I'll attend to the Strode woman."  
  
"Copy," Units 1-3 said in succession. Within seconds the units responded, and were quickly on the way to covering their tracks on the outside. In 5 minutes time, they had removed Danny's corpse, and taken Tommy, Kara and Stephen. Kara had proved to be the hardest to handle, clawing and screaming madly, until a sedative silenced her antics. The crew loaded up and left, and Neil turned, and walked into the house. He emptied his clip, and replaced it with a new one. Slowly, he made his way up the stairs, with the foresight that the Laurie was clearly aware of his presence, and likely hiding, waiting for her moment to strike.  
  
"The little bitch is probably armed," he muttered to himself, and continued to walk up the stairs. Once up to the top, he paused, with a feeling of danger flooding into his mind. Sensing her presence, he stopped short of entering the mouth of the hallway as he pondered his next move. He looked down at the walkie-talkie, then tossed it into the hallway. To his amusement, he watched it explode into shrapnel as Laurie blew it to oblivion with the shotgun.  
  
Within the two seconds it took for Laurie to re-pump the gun, Neil rolled into the hallway, with reflexes rivaling Laurie's own. He put a bullet in Laurie's hand, causing her to drop the gun.  
  
Laurie dropped to her knees and grit her teeth as she grasped the wrist of her injured hand. Pain stung through the open hole in her palm. Neil walked up to her, and placed the gun to her head.  
  
"This can go easy, or hard, love. The choice is yours." Laurie gave Neil a cold stare then slowly rose to her feet, as if to cooperate. He stepped behind her and motioned her down the hall. She began to walk, when suddenly in a moment of hazardous bravery, she spun around and kicked the gun from Neil's hand.  
  
"Fine," Neil growled as he slammed his fist in Laurie's mouth, splitting her lower lip. "Hard it is." Laurie was knocked back from the impact, which sent her tipping over the stairs. At the last minute, she managed to grab Neil by his worn leather jacket, as she went over. The two of them rolled down the stairs, impacting hard at various moments during their struggle. At the bottom, Laurie landed on top, and brought her knee up into Neil's groin. He fell back in pain, and she fled through the lobby. She spotted the rifle that Brackett had left at the top of the meat grinder's platform the night before when Michael had overcome him. She clumsily made her way up towards the top of the metal staircase. She had just made it to the top step, when Neil grabbed her by the hair and rammed her head against the top stair. Laurie's forehead split open in a spurt, and she screamed as Neil rolled her over.  
  
Neil brought his lips up to Laurie's and, breathing heavy, he spat into her bleeding face. "You fucking cunt!" He screamed, as he slapped her hard, staring down at her with his black eyes. "Now you've really pissed me off!!"  
  
He jerked her head to the side, and whispered into her ear. "You're husband begged for your life when I strung him up," Laurie's face broke into and expression of open shock at the revelation, and she began to weep. Satisfied, Neil pulled Laurie's hair and tilted her head back, exposing her neck. "I told him that you were already dead, and that I raped you before- hand. I don't see any reason why I shouldn't keep my word," Neil let out an obscene laugh, and Laurie's grief flared into rage. She lunged up, her hair tearing under Neil's grip, and bit him square in the nose.  
  
Neil let out a ferocious angry scream. Laurie brought her hand up and dug it deep into Neil's face, tearing the flesh on his forehead and cheek. Then, with everything she had, in a final act of desperation, she threw her weight, and propelled Neil into the grinder.  
  
"Rot in hell, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!!" She screamed and bared her teeth in hate. She briskly turned to the grinder's control panel, and flicked the switch.  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Fuck," Laurie spouted with a gasp. "The plug…" Neil lunged up and grabbed Laurie's leg and began to thrash like a mad dog, as he tried to pull her into the grinder's mouth. Laurie locked a hold on the platform railing, and struggled to break free. She spared a glance down to Neil. To her horror, he no longer even seemed human. Saliva spewed from his foaming mouth, as he screamed like some rampaging animal. Small ridges had begun to show on his forehead beneath his ripped and torn flesh. His nose was a mangled mess, and seeped blood in endless streams.  
  
"Laurie!"  
  
Laurie turned at the sound of her name to see that Brackett had crawled over to the wall and now held the plug in his hand. She turned back to Neil, and kicked repeatedly into his face with her free leg. She could hear the remains of the cartridge in his nose give, as she continued to cave in his face with her Olympian legs. Finally, his talon-like fingers let go, and she pulled up her leg, when Brackett plugged the grinder in.  
  
The machine whirled to life, and immediately the blades began to grind, as they tore into Neil's body. A haunting endless wail drowned out even the machine's buzzing grind, and then abruptly fell short, as the machine devoured the body to bits. Laurie saw the remains spew out in raw chunks of purple-red flesh and bone, and she turned over the balcony in nausea, and hurled.  
  
A couple of minutes passed, and finally, she gathered herself together and walked down the platform to where Brackett was stooped over by the wall outlet.  
  
"Thanks, Lee."  
  
"Don't sweat it, kid."  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"Just winded," he pulled his shirt up to reveal a bulletproof vest. "Kevlar," he said, indifferently. "Though I thought I was going to go into cardiac arrest when that creep fired a few rounds into me."  
  
"Aw… poor baby," a smile stretched across Laurie's battered and bleeding face, as she realized her old friend was all right. "You've got to watch that kind of thing at your age." She laughed.  
  
"Very funny, grandma."  
  
"Up yours."  
  
"You going to give me a hand or what?"  
  
Laurie reached down, and helped Lee to his feet.  
  
"What now?" she said.  
  
"Well, I figure that while we still got the nerve and the element of surprise, we gear up and go in guns blazing."  
  
"Agreed. We've got nothing to lose, at this point."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Lee smiled, fascinated anew with Laurie's unabashed suicidal bravery.  
  
"What about Michael?"  
  
"Dead," Lee returned, nodding back to the lobby's other end. "He's pinned to the wall by a pickaxe. I don't think he'll be much use to us."  
  
"Damn." Laurie cast her eyes to the floor, momentarily morose. "It would have been nice to have a front line man."  
  
Lee couldn't help but notice a slight remorseful edge to Laurie's voice, despite her attempts to sound indifferent. As curious as the thought was, he pushed it away.  
  
"Tell me about it. Well…shall we?"  
  
"After you," Laurie smiled weakly and gestured for Brackett to lead the way.  
  
The two of them armed up, and locked and loaded, they left for Smith's Grove County Sanitarium.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Michael rose from his hunch, and with a tremendous force of will, freed himself from the pickaxe. He came crashing to the floor, and lied there silently, feeling his body begin to tingle, as it began its strange and bizarre rapid regeneration. As soon as he was able to walk, he rose to his feet, fired up the van, and made for the institute.  
  
One way or another, this was it. No more games, he thought. Time to put an end to it, once and for all.  
  
He spared a brief glance into the back of the van in order to make sure he had what he needed, then turned back to the road and continued to drive. 


	14. The Purge of Fire

-14-  
  
THE PURGE OF FIRE  
  
  
  
As they approached the institute, Laurie and Lee drove towards the gate.  
  
"Well, I suppose there's no point in playing it quiet," Lee sighed as he turned to Laurie for verification.  
  
Laurie nodded, staring straight ahead, her focus zeroing in on the gate, and the security booth beyond it. "Floor it."  
  
Thus taking a hint from the Shape, they barreled the van through the gate, and smashed it through the booth. The security guard barely had time to register his shock, as the van crushed him, and then came to a screeching halt. The two other guards at the gate quickly ran into the scene and began to draw their guns. Laurie leaned out the window and fired a perfect shot into each of their heads, bringing them down quick.  
  
"Jesus!" Brackett turned to Laurie, his jaw agape.  
  
They quickly exited the van, and prepared for more resistance, only to discover the deadly quiet of the outer yard. Reaching down to one of the dead guards, Brackett retrieved a set of master keys. Laurie retrieved another set of keys from the second corpse and pocketed them.  
  
"Jackpot," Brackett said. "It looks like we can play this quiet after all."  
  
"Michael was right, they're probably preparing for the ritual. We've got the element of surprise." Laurie pragmatically emptied her clip and replaced it with a fresh one. "Do you think those diagrams of the institute he drew are accurate enough?"  
  
"We'll soon find out," Brackett began as he retrieved the drawings. "So how do you want to do this?"  
  
"You take the back route, be ready for the snipe. I'm going in through the front door. Perhaps we can make the most of the advantage of surprise. With any luck, maybe I can get my hands on the boss."  
  
"Loomis?" Brackett questioned, already knowing the answer.  
  
Laurie nodded. "It's always the same with these cultist types. Cut off the head, and the body will fall. Maybe we'll even get out of here without killing anyone else."  
  
"Wishful thinking," Brackett said, and began to trot on his way. "I'll be waiting for the mark. Good luck."  
  
Loomis donned the ceremonial robes, and made his way into the inner chamber. His congregation was waiting, and his offerings to Cernunnos were brought to the inner circle. Tommy Kara and Stephen were aligned in procession, flanked by two armed guards. At the mouth of the chamber room's entrance, two armed ushers greeted the remaining members of the congregation who had filtered in late. On the stone altar was a baby lamb.  
  
The doctor smiled fiendishly as he approached his hostages. He was quick to take in the blank and worn stare of the woman, in particular. There was deadness in her eyes that he took great pleasure in. She had received his gift of pain and death, and soon he would end her. He turned to Tommy, still smiling.  
  
"Hello, dear boy," Loomis began. "It's been a long time since we've talked. It would seem that you no longer have any time for the likes of your old friend, Sam Loomis."  
  
Tommy's eyes narrowed in an icy stare. He spoke, his voice gravelly and dry. "Ram the charade up your ass, Myddrin. We know who you are – what you are."  
  
Loomis (Myddrin) registered a brief moment of surprise in his aged distinguished features, the smiled brightly, anew. He leaned over to Tommy, who was bound and forced to sit on his knees onto the floor.  
  
"My, my, aren't we the clever little scholar, as usual," Myddrin began. "Or so you think." Tommy's eyes dropped from Myddrin's gaze. Myddrin cupped Tommy's chin, and jerked his head back up to face him. "You have no idea how deep over your head you're in, boy."  
  
"Fuck you," Tommy spat defiantly. "Give it up. In case you haven't noticed, Michael hasn't shown up, and your little plan's a bust."  
  
"Oh, he'll show. After all, I have you… and his darling boy." Myddrin glanced over to Stephen and noticed with great pleasure that the boy's already pained features had gone pale at the words of Myddrin's admission. Horrified, the boy stared silently, his eyes pleading with Tommy, searching for validation. Tommy put his head down, and cruelly, Myddrin laughed.  
  
Tommy's eyes glared back up at Myddrin, and with a snarl he uttered, "You'll have to fucking kill me before I let you harm a hair on his head."  
  
Myddrin leaned down once again, and with his face very close to Tommy's he whispered, "All in due time, dear boy. All in due time." Myddrin patted Tommy on the cheek, then pressed down, ripping a stitch open, which caused Tommy's face to bleed once more. Tommy bit down to avoid a scream from the pain flooding back into his head.  
  
"Now shut your mouth...and wait your turn." Myddrin gave Tommy's face one last dismissive shove then turned back to the altar.  
  
Myddrin picked up his ceremonial dagger, and raising his hands, he addressed his congregation.  
  
"Let us give great praise for this glorious night. The Eternal Hunt awaits. Praise be to Cernunnos, as we await his coming on this glorious eve of Samhain. Summer ends and the Eternal Hunt shall begin. Give praise."  
  
To which the congregation began to chant: "Praise to Cernunnos, praise, praise!"  
  
Myddrin turned to the lamb and slit its throat. "Tonight, Cernunnos, Herne, the horned one will feast on the blood of the children of the Jesus- god. Their time is at an end, and the old ways will rein once more."  
  
Laurie turned, and made her way though the front entrance. She trotted lightly down the corridor, and at the end, stopped to look at the diagram. She headed for the basement, and before long, the corridor dimmed, and she could see the illumination of candlelight, at the hall's distant end.  
  
Bingo.  
  
Her pulse quickened, as she made her way to the first door. She came across two guards at the entrance. Their attention was turned on the ceremony and she quietly made her way to the second door. She entered the room, after ascertaining that it was the backstage leading to the outer chamber. She approached a large curtain, and peered out.  
  
It occurred to Laurie briefly that however much or little she had believed of Tommy's story before, she was now convinced of every word of it. She peered out and took in Loomis, submerged in the rite of ceremony, and found the experience entirely surreal. It was impossible to imagine the gentle man she once knew, uttering those words and committing those actions, as to her horror, Loomis slit the throat of a small lamb. More so, she could feel an ominous energy emitting from the man, something much darker and intuitively dreadful then anything she had ever felt before. Thus she concluded to herself that the impossible was, in the end, the only answer.  
  
Loomis held his hands up in praise, and the congregation began to chant. With their attention on the ceremony, Laurie made her move. Quietly, she snuck out from the curtain, and crouching over, she crept in a straight line behind Loomis, using his very form to avoid detection. She drew a knife, and closed the distance.  
  
Loomis, enraptured in the sacrifice, slowly lowered his dagger and glanced upon it. With a cloth, he wiped the dead animal's blood away from it, unearthing the reflection of Laurie Strode Lloyd in its glint.  
  
The Doctor pivoted, and buried the blade to the hilt in Laurie's right shoulder, bringing her to her knees.  
  
"Hello, my dear," he said as he grabbed her by the hair, and retrieved the knife she had dropped. "I've been expecting you." He placed the blade tightly up to her jugular. "No sudden moves."  
  
Loomis stripped her of her weapons, kicking them to the side. "It would seem that Neil has failed to do his job. No matter. I trust that you ended him painfully. He was growing quite tiresome anyway. You've saved me the trouble of dealing with him myself, and for that, I thank you."  
  
"Go to hell."  
  
"Tsk, tsk," Loomis shook his head, disapprovingly, as he waved his finger in the air. "It's talk like that that will make you our first volunteer for the next sacrifice."  
  
Loomis approached her once more, under the cover of his guards, and ripped the knife from her shoulder. Laurie screamed.  
  
"You bastard!" Tommy wailed in outrage. "Leave her alone! Just leave her the hell alone!"  
  
Loomis spared a final glance at Laurie as she held her gaping wound, then turned back to the procession. Staring down the aisle, he found that his most valued guest had arrived.  
  
"Hello, Michael."  
  
The crowd turned, to see Michael standing at the front entrance. Loomis stepped down from the altar, past Tommy and the others, to face Michael directly across the main aisle.  
  
"Welcome home, son."  
  
Michael said nothing and stared intently at the Doctor. Several minutes passed, as a hush fell over the audience. Finally, Loomis broke the silence.  
  
"I trust that you are ready to complete your duties as our chosen brother."  
  
"No."  
  
"I see. And what pray tell did you have in mind?"  
  
Michael opened his trench coat, to reveal a mass of explosives strapped to his lower torso. From under his shirt, he pulled out a trigger switch, which he held from a chain around his neck.  
  
A rustle of panic filled the air, and the room exploded with gasps and sighs.  
  
"Ah," the Doctor said, tilting his head back, as he put his hands behind his back, taking it all in. "I see. You hope to rob me of my plan, is that it? Do you think that if you blow us all up right now that you can stop this?"  
  
Michael stood silently, and listened.  
  
"You are wrong, dear boy," Loomis continued as he walked back over to the inner circle and stood behind Kara, Danny and Stephen. "If you blow up the building, it is true that you will take us all with it, but you will have changed nothing. Whether it is by dagger or fire, the boy will still have died by your own hand, and he will rise from the ashes as Herne. The Eternal Hunt will begin regardless."  
  
Loomis placed his hands on Kara's shoulders. She seemed not to notice, and stared ahead, oblivious, as if in a trance. Michael noticed the deadness in her eyes, and turned his attention back to Loomis.  
  
"On the other hand, you can sit idly by, and watch me butcher each one of them one by one, until you finally give in, and I know you don't want that. Either way, they die. Take the boy, and I may spare them."  
  
"No."  
  
Loomis sighed. "Very well, then. It would seem that we are at an impasse. If I kill them you blow the place up, is that it? Perhaps I'm bluffing, and the purge of fire will end it. Then again, perhaps, you're bluffing as well."  
  
Loomis brought his face down, resting it directly over Kara's shoulders, while all the time, his black serpentine eyes continued to stare deeply into Michael's face.  
  
"I call your bluff," Loomis said, and brought his dagger across Kara's throat. Her eyes widened, as she gasped for air and began to choke on her own blood. Blood began to gush from her throat. She brought her hands up to her throat, in a futile attempt to stop the blood flow. Briefly, she pulled her hands back and stared at the blood on them, and then she collapsed to the floor.  
  
"NO!" Tommy screamed his face contorting in anguish as he tried to wrestle free of his bonds, to no avail. "KARA!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
"MOMMY!!!!!!!" the boy screamed as he bent over to his mother and tried to rouse her. Tears began to pour out of his eyes "Please don't die please…"  
  
Stephen picked his mother's hand up and held it to his cheek, while sobbing uncontrollably. Dimly, Kara glanced up at him, her eyes wide and desperate, as she gasped for a final breath, and choked out blood. Then her eyes rolled over white, and she was gone.  
  
The echo of the boy's grief-stricken, high-pitched wail flooded through the room, as he bent over his mother and cried. Laurie fell limp, dumbfounded by grief-stricken horror, her face going numb and pale with shock. Tommy's eyes went killer-red, and he lunged at Loomis like a rabid dog. One of the guards brought the butt of the gun down onto the top of his head, bringing him down.  
  
The guard went to pull Tommy back, when Tommy swung his head up and slammed it into the security guard's face. The guard fell back in pain, his nose gushing, when the second guard rushed over and kicked Tommy hard in the stomach. Tommy spat blood.  
  
"You FUCKING BASTARD!!" Tommy snarled, his eyes furrowed and his teeth bared, making him barely recognizable as a human being. "I'LL FUCKING RIP YOUR THROAT OUT!!! I'LL…"  
  
Tommy's words were cut short as the guard with the bleeding nose brought his gun down hard on Tommy's head in two hard slams. Tommy dropped back to his knees, and went silent, struggling to maintain consciousness.  
  
Loomis shook his head, and walked back up to the altar. He then turned back to Michael and flashed him a disapproving look. "Michael, Michael, Michael. Can't you see how difficult you're making this? End their suffering and give in."  
  
Michael stared gravely ahead, contemplating his next move. For the first time he could remember, he was completely unsure of what to do.  
  
"Unless you're ready to watch me take the pretty little head of your darling sister," Loomis said, as he stood behind Laurie and placed the dagger to her throat. "It's like riding a bicycle, really. All too easy. Kill for him, Michael."  
  
Michael's blood went cold with Loomis' last words, for he had heard in that moment, the voice beyond Loomis' own; the voice of Evil.  
  
"Kill for him."  
  
Michael began to quiver, feeling the presence of the Evil suddenly manifest. It was as if a cold swirl was spinning around him, and the very air itself had turned foul and was trying to seep its way into him.  
  
He looked down at the boy, cowering over his mother. It would be so easy. So quick, the most simplest of actions.  
  
No.  
  
Yet, the voice persisted, growing ever aggressive, as the Evil pounded on his skull to let it in. Michael's nose started to bleed, as he closed his eyes, trying to assert his will and defy it.  
  
Kill for him!  
  
NO.  
  
KILL!!  
  
Suddenly the congregation began to chant, like bloodthirsty Romans, awaiting a gladiator to claim his victory.  
  
"Kill, kill, kill kill kill…."  
  
The veins in Michael's neck began to stand out as his body began to shake in convulsions. The true voice of the Evil was now screaming at him from what seemed like the inside of his own skull, and his head ached from the force of it's pounding beat.  
  
Kill for him.  
  
No.  
  
Kill for him.  
  
Michael's eyes flashed open, black, and glossy. He stared at Laurie. She looked to him, and then flashed her eyes to the right. She repeated the gesture, and Michael recognized it as a signal.  
  
Brackett.  
  
Somewhere beyond the congregation, Brackett was poised with his rifle waiting for the mark. Michael spared a final glance to Laurie and noticed her give a slight nod. The look in her eyes was clear and resolved. Live or die, she was ready to act. Then the aggressive pounding of the voice returned, and he closed his eyes one final time.  
  
Kill for him  
  
No.  
  
KILL FOR HIM!!!!!!!!  
  
Okay.  
  
Michael's eyes flashed open again, and glanced down at the boy. He then grabbed hold of the two supervising guards, while they were still preoccupied with Tommy, and slammed their heads together. The mashing sound of meat and bone shattered the air, and the two guards fell instantly dead.  
  
Loomis was caught off guard in a dizzying moment of disbelief, and that moment, as short-lived as it was, was enough for Laurie. She snaked the bridge of her arm up between Loomis' blade and her throat. Loomis brought the knife in, and it dug into Laurie's wrist. Ignoring the pain, she bit into his hand causing him to drop the dagger, while at the same time she rammed her elbow into Loomis' gut.  
  
The Doctor fell back, but quickly recovered, and as Laurie began to pick herself up off of the floor, he delivered a hard kick into her stomach. She fell back winded, and Loomis began to flee.  
  
Tommy lunged for the dagger, and then used it to cut his bonds. The sound of a bullet whizzed by his head, and he looked up to see that the two guards at the entrance were approaching the scene, their guns poised. Suddenly, in a spray of red, the top of one of the guard's heads blew off, at the sound of distant gunfire.  
  
Brackett, Tommy thought, his last intelligible rational thought, before the bloodlust set in. Tommy bared his teeth and picked up the dead guard's rifle.  
  
Suddenly, a rage of fury erupted from him in an animalistic scream, as, to Stephen's horror, he opened fire on the audience.  
  
"You sick, twisted FUCKS!!! YOU WANT YOUR SACRIFICE? YOU WANT YOUR BLOOD? YOU GOT IT!!!!" Tommy screamed again, his face flushing red with rage as he fired madly.  
  
Stephen crouched behind the altar, horrified, as he watched his father fire into the crowd. Before his eyes, Tommy had turned into a full-fledged monster. The slashed and bruised, bloody face on his father bespoke of an image of sheer terror, as it screamed obscenities, and he fired mercilessly into the crowd. Some members of the congregation tried foolishly to reach for him, and were blown back in a riddle of bullets and blood. Most turned to run towards the exit. Tommy didn't have a problem with shooting them in the back.  
  
"STOP IT DADDY!!!!" Stephen screamed, in vain. "STOP IT!!!!"  
  
Brackett watched from the distance as the Doyle kid completely lost it. He sighed and raised his gun to cover the kid. Brackett didn't like the idea of a slaughter, but they were in far to deep for him not to have Tommy's back at this point. Some of them, after all, were armed, and returning fire. His eyes then fell to Kara's still corpse, and he found he didn't have any trouble pulling the trigger, as he began to fire into the audience.  
  
Quickly Michael went to Laurie and helped her to her feet. She waved him off, gathering her breath while holding her knees.  
  
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she managed in a series of hard pants, as she looked up and made eye contact with him. "Stop him, Michael. Don't let him get away. End it, once and for all."  
  
Michael paused for a moment, then quietly he said, "Get the boy safely out of the building." He looked deeply into her eyes and then added: "You should have about five minutes."  
  
Laurie's eyes widened, as she glanced down at the explosives strapped to Michael's chest, with the dawning revelation of just what he had planned. With one last somber glance, he turned from her, and began to pick up Loomis' trail.  
  
"Michael,"  
  
Michael turned back around, at the sound of his sister's voice. Despite the urgency of the moment, he couldn't help but notice how conflicted she seemed. Her mouth opened, then closed again, unsure of what she wanted to articulate.  
  
"Good-bye, Michael," she said, finally.  
  
Michael's gaze dropped for a moment, absorbing her words, then he stared back into her eyes.  
  
"Good-bye Laurie," he said, and then he was gone.  
  
Laurie watched him leave for a moment, and then her attention was turned back to the chaos behind her. She turned, and noticed that Tommy had gone completely nuts. She glanced to the boy cringing behind the stone altar, screaming and begging for his father to stop.  
  
"STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!!!!!!!!"  
  
Laurie turned from the boy and looked to Tommy. "Tommy!" She yelled, trying to get his attention. "Tommy!" Her call was cut short as a bullet grazed by her arm. "SHIT!" she yelled, and she leapt behind the altar for cover. Stephen continued to sob and scream, as the gunfire continued its maddening roar. Laurie took the boy in her arms, and waited for it to end.  
  
The last standing security guard jumped up from a mass of piling bodies, and fired his gun. A big, meat- grabbing slug tore through Tommy's left shoulder. Tommy didn't let on that he noticed, other than by returning with his own gunfire. The guard's body shook as bullet after bullet ripped through him, when finally he crashed to the floor in a bloody heap of mangled meat.  
  
Tommy's machine gun went empty, and he threw it to the side and picked up the other guard's gun, and still screaming, continued to fire. Brackett and him finally overcame them all. Nobody made it out.  
  
Laurie peered over the altar, and concluded that Tommy was now firing on a mountain of dead meat. No one moved, save for the bullets that impacted and tore into their flesh.  
  
She stood, and made for Tommy. He was still screaming and firing the gun. "Tommy! Tommy!!! GOD-DAMN IT!!!"  
  
Laurie ripped the gun from Tommy's hand, and gave him a large slap to knock him to his senses. "THEY'RE ALL DEAD! Are you satisfied?"  
  
Tommy's eyes were glossy and blind. His teeth bared in a snarl, with lack of recognition, and for a moment, Laurie was dreadfully scared of Tommy. Then gradually, the anger from his face dissipated, leaving him looking pale, and lost. He stared around at the mass of dead bodies, taking them all in, for the first time. He looked down at his hands, and began to quiver. Laurie recognized it as shock. She took him by the arm and looked deeply into his eyes.  
  
"Tommy!" She said with deadly sharpness. "Snap out of it! We've got to get out now!"  
  
"Wha..?"  
  
"This place is going up! We've got to move!"  
  
Finally, Tommy came to his senses, and they gathered up the boy and began to run for the corridor.  
  
"Brackett, haul ass!" Laurie shouted as they began to move. Brackett heard the desperation in her voice, and didn't stop to think twice.  
  
Michael turned down the hallway, as he continued his pursuit of the Doctor. They were in the deepest recesses of the building's basement, and the exits were few and far between. Sensing the Doctor's presence, Michael made his way through a large storeroom. The room was in a surprising state of disarray, and heaps of old furniture and hospital beds were stocked and piled at various points in the room. Suddenly, Michael paused, and stared down at the remains of a dead body.  
  
Danny.  
  
Beside the corpse, lied some of the remains of the fence from the Tower Farm. Michael turned, and Loomis rammed one of the large iron fence posts straight into his chest.  
  
Michael's mouth spurted blood once again, as he was impaled against the wall for the second time that night. He looked up to see the Loomis' black eyes staring back at him as the Doctor growled like an animal, and tried to twist the fence post to the left, to puncture Michael's heart.  
  
Michael grabbed the doctor by the shoulders, and violently jerked him forward, impaling him on the very post he had used for a weapon against him.  
  
"NO!!" Loomis (Myddrin) screamed in a futile fit of outrage, as blood spewed from his mouth. His hands began to flail like talons, as he reached up and tore at the leathery scorched flesh on Michael's face. Michael grabbed the Doctor's left arm, and snapped it in two. The thing inside the Doctor let out a howl of pain.  
  
"It is time, Doctor." Michael said as he stared deeply into the seething, growling face of the Doctor as he pulled the trigger switch out from under his shirt. Myddrin's black eyes went wide with sudden mounting fear one last time, and then he was gone.  
  
Staring back into Michael's face were the warm and gentle eyes of a grandfather.  
  
"Yes, Michael, you're quite right, " Doctor Sam Loomis said, as he smiled gently and took Michael's hand in his own, like a father to his son.  
  
"Thank you, Michael."  
  
Michael returned the Doctor's embrace with a gentle squeeze, and nodded. He then found himself doing something that he hadn't done for a very long time.  
  
He smiled.  
  
Then he pressed the trigger, and the two were consumed by the purge of fire. 


	15. Epilogue

-15-  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
  
  
They had just got clear of the building when Smith's Grove County Sanitarium erupted in a thunderous belch of fire. Flames quickly engulfed the building, illuminating the dark fall sky with their searing brightness.  
  
Brackett fired up the van, which laid a mere few feet short of the bomb's fallout. The others, battered and broken, climbed in. Brackett wasted no time fleeing the scene, and drove the van up to the conservation hill, which featured a tower overlooking the entire area. Tending to their wounds, they watched the building burn.  
  
As the hours passed, Laurie and Brackett kept vigil over the building. They finally concluded that no one had made it out, with the exception of the various inmates they encountered wandering the hill still on the prowl from their release the night before. It would seem that the Doctor, in his haste to bring about the end of the world via ritualistic murder, had his professional priorities back-words, and had failed to order the retrieval of the institute's lost wards. Lucky for them.  
  
Unfortunately, old troubles were replaced with new ones. Neither Tommy nor Stephen had spoken a single word since they had fled, and both sat in seclusion, pale and unresponsive.  
  
"Quite the pair," Brackett muttered, as he stared back at them with growing concern.  
  
"Tell me about it," Laurie responded, holding her throbbing head as she looked back upon the boys. She was particularly concerned about Stephen. Tommy, at least, seemed lucid enough to respond, but the boy was verging on catatonia, and she was dreadfully afraid for him.  
  
"Any ideas?" Brackett inquired, probing Laurie for a solution to Stephen and Tommy's comatose states.  
  
"Yes," Laurie responded curtly, then abruptly left. She approached Tommy, who was sitting crouched on the ground, blankly staring ahead, absorbing the burning flames of the inferno below.  
  
"Tommy," Laurie said, as she knelt down beside him. Tommy remained silent, and continued to stare ahead. "Listen to me, Tommy, I know you're hurting, and I can't imagine how you must feel right now, but that boy needs you."  
  
Tommy continued to stare ahead, completely disregarding Laurie's presence. Laurie grew increasingly frustrated.  
  
"God-damn it, do you hear me? That boy is lost, and he needs his father. You're the only one who can reach him. For the love of God, go talk to him!!!"  
  
"And what?" Tommy's head spun around, his eyes suddenly blazing, his voice gravelly and strained. "What should I tell him, Laurie? Everything's fine? Hey, don't sweat it kid – don't worry about the fact that your mother and brother have been butchered? And that bit about being the son of a disfigured serial killer? Just put it out of your mind, son. Close your eyes, and everything will be better."  
  
Laurie's composure buckled at the penetrating haunting presence of Tommy's gaze. She averted her eyes, and put her head down.  
  
"I don't believe that garbage myself, Laurie," Tommy said with a dismissive wave.  
  
"If you don't at least try to talk to him, you may lose him as well." Laurie returned, glancing back up into Tommy's face. It was his turn to hang his head.  
  
"I can't prevent that."  
  
Laurie put her hand on Tommy's shoulder, and continued. "You've lost so much tonight Tommy, and I don't blame you for feeling the way you do. But none of that was your fault. It was far beyond your control."  
  
Tommy continued to sit in silence.  
  
"But this isn't," Laurie said, gently pushing Tommy's chin up to face her. He flashed her a pained glance from the remains of his broken face. "If you don't at least try to reach him, this one's on you."  
  
Tommy sighed. He gave Laurie one last final glance, then after a moment, he picked himself up and walked over towards the boy.  
  
Stephen was sitting on the edge of the van's back, staring silently towards the bright orange flames, as they illuminated the night sky. Quietly, Tommy sat down beside him. The boy didn't acknowledge his presence, and continued to stare blankly ahead.  
  
Minutes passed, when finally Tommy began to speak. "Stephen, I'm not even going to tell you that everything is all right. Everything is NOT all right. Everything is as bad as it possibly could be."  
  
The boy continued to stare blankly ahead.  
  
"But we can't let it destroy us." Tommy went on, his voice weak and quiet. "They're gone, Stephen, and we can't bring them back. But we have to go on…for them. They would want us to live they way they couldn't." Tommy paused again for a moment to see if he was getting through to the boy at all.  
  
Nothing. Stephen didn't budge. He didn't even appear to be breathing. Tommy closed his eyes.  
  
"But I promise kid, that I'm not going anywhere. I will always be there for you no matter what. Stephen, I…" Tommy reached down to place his hand on the boy's shoulder, when suddenly the child lurched back as if stung by Tommy's touch. The boy cowered with his arms crossed and his eyes tightly closed, and he began to breath rapidly, in large gasping pants.  
  
Tommy's heart dropped, at the dawning revelation that the boy was petrified of him.  
  
"Ah," Tommy muttered quietly, as he slowly and gently moved his hand away. "I get it. I got pretty scary back there. It's just that like you I was lost and angry and confused, and if you leave me I've got nothing…I'll be all alone, and I couldn't go on...I…"  
  
Stephen peered up to see that his father was trembling. Tommy turned and met his gaze, and pleading in a desperate tiny voice, he said, "Don't leave me Stephen. Please, don't leave me."  
  
For a moment, the boy looked up into the anguished face of his father, and then suddenly he hugged Tommy tight.  
  
"I love you, Daddy," he said.  
  
Tommy's eyes opened up in widened surprise, and then suddenly he burst into tears. Tommy's sobs echoed across the hill loud and sorrowful, as the boy held him in his arms.  
  
Brackett, feeling like an intruder on the moment, finally couldn't stand it any longer, and turned away to give the two some privacy. Laurie followed suit.  
  
She turned and walked over to the lookout point. The flames continued their searing cleanse of the building, and finally, in the distance, Laurie could hear the sirens. She wasn't sure why it took so long for them to respond. She rationalized that it was due to the fact that Smith's Grove was on the outmost reaches of Haddonfield, but still she wondered, if part of the town somehow realized the significance of what had happened out here tonight, and they were deliberately lax in their response. Whatever the reason, she had never before been pleased with such a late arrival to an emergency scene.  
  
Laurie closed her eyes, as the cold November wind began to make it's Northern descent. She turned back to the flames of the building, and even from the top of the hill, she could feel their cleansing warmth, and she smiled. The dark shroud that had smothered the town had finally lifted after all of these years, with the onset of winter.  
  
She smiled, for in the fire's cleansing flames, she had been reborn. For the first time in a very long time, she had found a purpose beyond the self -consuming darkness of revenge; she had found a reason to live. She turned back once more, and spared a final glance to the man and his son, her grandson. The road to recovery was going to be long and hard, but in the end, they would get through it.  
  
The moon glowed down upon the scene, as Laurie closed her eyes once more and sighed.  
  
Thank you Michael, she thought.  
  
Thank you. 


End file.
